


mjørki, or you came in slowly like the fog and consumed me

by SlantedKnitting



Series: gifts given [19]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff and Angst, Fog, Friends to Lovers, Hiking, Jealousy, M/M, Physical Disability, Sheep, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/SlantedKnitting
Summary: Morgana plans a destination wedding in the Faroe Islands, and Merlin and Arthur arrive early to take advantage of the beautiful landscape. Everything is great, except for the bed situation at the hotel.Modern AU.





	mjørki, or you came in slowly like the fog and consumed me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Camelittle!! I don't know where most of these ideas came from, but hopefully this is to your liking!
> 
> Incredible thanks to [Mya](http://ji-ang.tumblr.com/) for the super duper quick and amazing beta job <3
> 
> Second half of the title from [a poem](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/53349436-this-is-how-you-know-i-want-you) that I've never read.  
> First half of the title is the Faroese word for "fog" (or one of [apparently many Faroese words](http://i.imgur.com/mAMO5ek.jpg) for "fog").

Arthur walks into his flat after work and sees Merlin waiting for him on the sofa. That in itself is not unusual, but the outfit Merlin is wearing—holy shit, that _outfit_ —is extremely unusual. At least, it’s unusual by normal standards. Arthur supposes that in Merlin’s case, it’s probably only slightly out of the ordinary.

“What the fuck is that?” Arthur asks as he hangs up his keys and closes the door behind him.

“What?” Merlin asks innocently.

“You know exactly what.” Arthur hangs up his suit jacket as well before sitting on his shoe storage bench and waiting for an answer.

Merlin stands up, grinning, and spins to give Arthur the full view.

He’s wearing what Arthur is certain is a women’s playsuit. It’s either that or the most hideous shorts and shirt combination possible. Neither option seems like a good fashion choice.

Over the romper, Merlin is wearing the most baffling jacket Arthur has ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on. It’s short—far too short to be useful as an actual jacket—and fuzzy. It is _so_ fuzzy. And it’s rainbow coloured. It’s an abomination and an eye sore and Arthur wants to burn it.

“Did you wear that in public?” Arthur asks.

“It’s not seasonally appropriate.” Merlin has the audacity to look at Arthur like _he’s_ the crazy one.

“So you wore something sensible in public and then changed into that monstrosity when you got here?”

Merlin grins proudly. “Yeah.”

“You look like you got lost on your way to the worst ever rave.”

“You don’t understand,” Merlin says, his expression far too serious for his outfit. “My whole life has been flipped upside-down. I’m a new man. Before, I only _thought_ I’d owned clothes. Now, I truly do. It’s a game-changer.”

“I can’t believe you spent money on that.” Arthur leans down to untie his shoelaces, mostly as an excuse to stop looking at the nauseating sight that is Merlin.

“Would you rather I’d stolen it?”

“Honestly, yes. Whoever made that deserves to be stolen from.”

Merlin snorts, and Arthur looks up to see him sitting back down on the sofa. He crosses his legs and the romper hikes up on his thighs, exposing much more skin than Arthur had been prepared to see.

Arthur had thought he’d just come home from a normal day at work and have a normal night alone with a book and a beer. Now he has to deal with Merlin, who is far beyond shameless in his quest for attention and scantily clad besides.

Arthur looks down again. He pulls off his shoes and hitches up his trousers to start unstrapping the hard braces he’s been wearing all day so that he can get on with his evening. Once they’re off, he stuffs them in a cubby under the bench along with his shoes and pulls out a pair of softer braces.

After fitting them over his socks, Arthur joins Merlin on the sofa.

“So I assume you want me to buy this outfit for you as well?” Merlin asks.

“Can you imagine me walking into the firm tomorrow wearing,” Arthur waves his hand vaguely, “whatever in hell that even is?”

“It’s my new favourite thing and I won’t have you saying anything bad about it.”

“You look like you need an intervention.”

“Rude,” Merlin says. He readjusts himself on the sofa until his knees are dangling over an armrest and his head is in Arthur’s lap.

Arthur brushes his fingers over the soft hood of Merlin’s stupid jacket before pushing it back to play with Merlin’s hair.

“Have you booked your flights for the wedding yet?” Merlin asks after a moment.

Arthur blinks down at him. “They only just told us the dates yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you’re always two steps ahead of everyone else.”

When Arthur doesn’t respond, Merlin reaches up to scratch his cheek.

Arthur tilts his head away from Merlin’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“It looked itchy.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, barely containing his laughter. He does love when Merlin is inexplicable and whimsical, but he also loves pretending to hate it, just to see Merlin pretend to be offended.

“Can we go out for dinner?” Merlin asks.

“I’m not putting my shoes back on. And I’m not going anywhere with you when you’re dressed like that.”

Merlin sits up and turns around so he’s leaning against the armrest and his feet are in Arthur’s lap. “Okay, let’s get a takeaway, then. Though I guess you’ll have to decide between answering the door in your socks or letting the delivery boy see me.”

“Don’t you have your own home to eat in?”

Merlin gives Arthur a bright, toothy grin. “Of course I do. You know I’d rather eat with you.”

“You mean you’d rather torture me.”

“Yes, that too.”

Arthur shakes his head and gets out his mobile so they can order their food for the night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“What do you mean they ran out of rooms?” Arthur asks, trying not to shout into his mobile. “They’re a hotel. Their whole business is having enough rooms!”

“There was a mix-up,” Gwen explains. “There was a bit of a mistranslation on the website, or maybe a typo—”

“A typo?”

“Are you going to let me finish, or should I ring back later?”

Arthur sighs and slumps back in his chair. He’s working late, stuck in his office with a mountain of work, and this call isn’t going to get him home any sooner.

“Go on,” he says grumpily.

“Thank you. Morgana and Elena reserved the whole hotel based on the RSVP list, but we just found out they actually have fewer rooms than we thought. Not by many, though, so it’s not a total crisis.”

“And I suppose you’re telling me this because…” Arthur asks, although he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“Because I’m asking you to room with someone else.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Arthur, please. It won’t be that bad.”

“Why me? Surely someone other than the _only living family member_ of one of the brides could double up?”

“I’m asking you because most of the other guests are couples, and I don’t want to ask them to share rooms if I don’t have to.”

“So, I have to do it because I’m single? Nice.”

“No, you have to do it because you’re my friend, and I’m planning your sister’s wedding, and you _know_ how she’ll get if this can’t be sorted. Please, can you just do me this favour?”

“I don’t believe I owe you any favours at the moment.”

“Then I’ll owe you one after this. Please? Please, Arthur.”

Arthur lets out a long, heaving sigh, careful to do it right into his mobile’s speaker. “Fine. Who are you sticking me with?”

“Merlin.”

“Aw, no, come on! Isn’t there anyone else?” he asks, grinning as he imagines Gwen’s annoyed face.

“He’s your best friend. What’s the problem? Surely you can handle rooming with him for a few nights.”

“He snores!”

“Then bring ear plugs. Honestly,” Gwen mutters before hanging up.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Arthur loves going to new places, but he hates the traveling that happens in between, so he’s not surprised when the trip to the wedding isn’t spectacular.

The idiots at the security officers in the airport make him take off his braces because they’re too short-staffed to do a separate screening for him. He can walk without the support of his ankle-foot orthoses, but he very much prefers not to. It’s slow and awkward, and it’s difficult for him to maintain his balance. He barely even walks around in his own flat without at least soft braces to mitigate the foot drop he has in both legs.

After all the arguing with the security guards and the extra time spent just moving from the beginning of the check point to the other side, Arthur is exhausted by the time he’s able to sit down and put his braces back on.

He wishes Merlin were with him. Merlin would have shouted at the guards for him. He probably would have done a lot of excellent swearing in the process, too.

But, naturally, Merlin is running late, so Arthur has already been sitting at the gate for an hour when he finally arrives.

“Security was a nightmare,” Merlin says by way of greeting as he plops down in the seat next to Arthur. “Did you get through okay?”

“No.” Arthur stuffs his book into his hand luggage and checks his mobile. “It’s almost boarding time.”

“What happened?” Merlin asks, glancing down at Arthur’s feet.

“Had to take off my braces. It’s fine, it’s over with.”

“Arse-picking bumholes,” Merlin says, and Arthur feels slightly vindicated. “You should have told them you were injured in a knife fight, then I bet they wouldn’t have messed with you.”

“Has the truth lost its punch? Rock climbing accidents aren’t enough anymore?”

“I’ll take a poll,” Merlin teases as he stands back up. “I’m going to run and find food. Can I get you anything?”

Arthur starts to shake his head, but Merlin has already hurried off towards the shops. Arthur pulls his book back out and only just finishes his chapter when the flight starts to board.

Arthur gets all of his things—and all of _Merlin’s_ things—ready, and then he stands by the gate. By the time Merlin runs back with a plastic bag full of food, everyone else has boarded.

“Ready?” Arthur asks, not particularly amused.

Merlin flashes him a smile, takes the handles of the plastic bag in his teeth, and leads the way onto the plane. He doesn’t understand how to be subtle or quiet about anything, ever. He bangs his body and bags into pretty much every possible target as he heads down the aisle, and Arthur can’t do anything but watch helplessly as more and more passengers turn to glare at them.

When Merlin finally finds their row, he stuffs his things into the overhead locker and settles into the middle seat next to an annoyed-looking woman by the window. Arthur hurries to shove his bag away and sit down as well.

He can tell right away that it’s not going to be a good flight. There isn’t anything close to enough leg room, and it only takes a few minutes for his legs and feet to get sore from the awkward angle he has to bend his knees at.

“Croissant?” Merlin offers, digging into his bag of food.

Arthur shakes his head and grabs one of his shins, trying to adjust his footing and find a more comfortable position.

“You okay?” Merlin asks, frowning at Arthur’s legs.

Arthur shakes his head again but doesn’t offer an explanation. He reaches above their heads to adjust the lights and the airflow, ready to get the flight over with.

After eating his croissant, Merlin spends the rest of the two hours on the plane sleeping. Within minutes, he’s pressed against Arthur’s side with his head on Arthur’s shoulder, snoring and drooling.

It doesn’t make the flight any more enjoyable, but at least Arthur is much warmer than he usually is on planes.

When they land in Copenhagen, Arthur shakes Merlin awake and then limps off the plane because one of his legs is completely asleep.

Merlin drags Arthur around the airport, claiming that walking will help, and within an hour Arthur’s eaten more Danish pastries than he thought possible. Once sated, Merlin agrees to sit down at their next gate. Arthur sprawls out on the floor and spends some time stretching out his legs before spreading his jacket out as a makeshift blanket and going to sleep.

Arthur wakes up about 30 minutes before they board their second flight, so he stretches out again and finds the loos before joining Merlin in line at the gate.

This plane isn’t any more spacious, but it’s less crowded so Merlin and Arthur have their 3-seat row to themselves. Merlin takes the window seat, giving Arthur room to spread out over the middle and aisle seats. Arthur expects Merlin to fall asleep again, but instead he pulls out his tablet and stylus and spends most of their two-hour air time drawing.

Arthur isn’t sure if it’s something for Merlin’s work or just something for fun, but either way he finds it unreasonably relaxing to watch. Merlin’s hands are so delicate—he has thin wrists and long, bony fingers—but so sure with each stroke. Sometimes he hovers his stylus just slightly above the tablet surface, tracing something in his mind before making it appear on the screen.

At first, Merlin draws a nice landscape complete with mountains in the background and a river in the foreground. Next, he draws a desert full of sand dunes and cacti. After that, he spends a long time sketching out different hand positions, occasionally grabbing Arthur’s hand and holding it up as a reference. Finally, not long before they’re due to land, Merlin starts drawing something that Arthur can’t quite identify. It’s definitely an indoor scene: there is a shockingly high ceiling and a wall of windows and rows upon rows of chairs. When Merlin gets to work on a lumpy figure in the lower left corner, Arthur realizes that Merlin is drawing him asleep on the floor of the Copenhagen Airport.

Merlin startles when the pilot announces their impending arrival in the Faroe Islands. He jumps a little in his seat, and his stylus makes a long, thick line across the drawing he’s done of Arthur. Chuckling, Merlin undoes the mistake before saving his work and stowing the tablet away in his bag.

“Ready?” he asks Arthur, his smile bright.

Arthur nods and sits upright in the middle seat, his knee and shoulder pressed against Merlin’s, ready to be done with the journey so he can enjoy the destination.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Vágar airport is small but sort of charming in how tidy and clean everything looks. Merlin heads straight to the car hire kiosks, leaving Arthur to grab their cases from the baggage carousel.

“I got a map,” Merlin says happily as he rejoins Arthur. “The friendly car man suggested we go to that waterfall in the town that sounds like a _Lord of the Rings_ character.”

“Right now?” Arthur asks, scanning the map. There are notations all over it, but none of them are in English. “I thought we were going to do that tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but it’s closer to the airport than anything else, so we might as well get a head start.” Merlin grabs his case and heads toward the doors without waiting for Arthur to agree to the plan.

“We just got here,” Arthur says, hurrying to catch up.

“Are you very, very tired from doing nothing all day?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Fine, but…” He trails off as he follows Merlin outside.

It looks as if the airport is the only thing for miles. There’s a carpark and then just mountains and fields and more mountains. It’s foggy and grey and silent. It’s surreal.

“This way,” Merlin says, oblivious as he heads towards the rental cars. Arthur follows, staring up at the incredibly open sky.

“Here we are.”

Arthur looks back down in time to stop himself from walking into Merlin, who is standing in front of a small blue car. They load their bags into the back seat, and, barely 30 minutes after landing, they’re off toward the village of Gásadalur.

The drive is very scenic and does nothing to change Arthur’s impression of the Faroe Islands as incredibly isolated. It takes almost 20 minutes before they finally come across a few houses, although that might be because Merlin is the only driver on the road, and he uses the opportunity to go as slow as possible so he can admire the view.

Merlin parks in a random field next to the houses—at least one of which has a moss-covered roof—and slings on his rucksack before running off to make friends with some sheep while Arthur changes into hiking boots and braces better suited for outdoor activities.

“Ready?” Arthur asks, shouting over at Merlin.

Merlin pats his new sheep friends affectionately before jogging back to Arthur. “Ready. Where do you think it is?”

“Probably in one of these houses. Is this really a whole town? How many people live here, do you think?”

Merlin takes a quick count of the buildings. “20?”

“That is absurd.”

“Yeah, but look.” Merlin points up and Arthur follows the line of his hand, realising there’s a stark cliff visible above the fog.

“Does the sky look lower here than in London?” Arthur asks.

“No. Well, maybe.” Merlin tilts his head as he looks up at the mountain. “A little, yeah. Weird. Oh, look!” He points excitedly at a cow that has just wandered out from behind one of the houses.

Arthur laughs and takes Merlin’s hand before he can get the cow’s attention.

“Come on,” he says, tugging Merlin away from the village. “Didn’t the website say something about a gate?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, still looking over his shoulder at the cow.

“Well, we drove past one. Let’s try that.”

Merlin laces his fingers with Arthur’s as they head towards the gate at a slight decline. The gate is locked but not very high and not at all guarded, so they just climb over it and then head down a stone path.

“That’s…” Merlin stops in his tracks as the waterfall comes into view.

Arthur stops as well, squeezing Merlin’s hand. The waterfall is probably huge, but it looks dwarfed in comparison to everything around it. It’s starts near a plush green expanse and then tumbles down a brown cliff face. Beyond the green fields is another mountain, this one with its top lost in the fog. To the left of it all is the ocean and its dark blue-green waters.

“Let’s sit,” Merlin says, tugging Arthur over to a single bench set out for better viewing.

When Arthur settles down, Merlin immediately curls up at his side, and he drapes an arm over Merlin’s shoulders.

“It’s cold,” Merlin says after a moment. “Wasn’t it summer when we left this morning?”

“Didn’t you put on a jumper in the car?” Arthur asks, unable to look away from the waterfall. It’s so peaceful, and the uncomfortable flights seem years away.

Merlin hums in assent. “Could you climb those rocks?” he asks, gesturing at the cliff.

“I feel like it would be very windy. And probably too wet. But that might actually be a good spot for cliff jumping.”

“That’s insane. Surely you’d die on impact?”

Arthur leans forward a little to see more of the ocean. “Nah, you’d be fine. Cold, but fine.”

“ _You’re_ insane, then,” Merlin decides.

Arthur chuckles and pulls Merlin a little closer, not willing to admit he’s also cold despite the extra layers he threw on in the car.

“Can I ask you a favour?” Merlin asks after a few minutes.

“Hm?”

“Can you sit on the ground over there?” Merlin points at the very edge of the viewing spot. There’s no rail, but Arthur is certain that they’re on top of another steep cliff.

“Why?”

“Please?”

“And you say I’m the insane one,” Arthur mutters, getting to his feet. He gets as close to the edge as he dares and peers over, finding himself looking down at a very long drop to the ocean.

“Please don’t fall in!”

Arthur turns back around to see Merlin pulling out a sketchpad from his bag.

“It’s not falling if you do it on purpose.”

“I asked you to sit!” Merlin has to shout to be heard over the wind that’s started to pick up.

Arthur salutes before sitting on the cold, hard ground. He expects Merlin to just make a quick sketch, but then he sees Merlin pulling out a watercolour set.

“I’m not sitting here forever,” Arthur warns. “And it’s starting to get gloomy.”

“Just a few minutes.” Merlin flashes Arthur a grin, and Arthur doesn’t protest anymore.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Merlin persuades Arthur to visit two large lakes before agreeing to head to the hotel. It takes almost an hour to drive there because it’s on a different island, and because Merlin is bad at listening to Arthur’s directions, but eventually they make it into the capital city of Tórshavn.

Arthur is immediately charmed. The city sits near the ocean, and the sky is so incredibly open. There isn’t a skyscraper in sight—the buildings are all low and brightly coloured, and there are more moss-covered roofs.

It’s nearly 11 in the evening, but it’s still light outside when they drag their bags from the car into the lobby. The man at the front desk is wearing a jumper that is almost overwhelming in its detailed pattern, and he smiles a little too widely as he checks them in.

The hotel is new but cozy. It’s right on the water and there’s another island visible out of one of the windows in the lobby. Arthur can’t help but get excited when he realises that their room on the first floor is on that side of the hotel as well, so they’ll be able to look out over the harbour and the other island from their window.

Once he opens the door, however, Arthur is not excited. He’s not amused, either.

“I’m going to kill Gwen,” he says, taking in the one, single, solitary bed in the middle of the room.

Merlin is uncharacteristically silent.

“Do you think she did this on purpose or was it another ‘mistranslation’?” Arthur asks.

Merlin just shakes his head. “Well… I doubt there’s another room they can switch us with at this point, but I’m going back to ask, anyway.”

Arthur follows Merlin back down to the lobby, both of them still lugging their bags behind them.

The man at the desk is helping someone else check in, and Arthur startles a little when he sees that it’s Gwaine, another friend and wedding guest. He’d almost forgotten what they had come to the Faroe Islands for.

Gwaine gives them both hugs as he gets checked in, and he laughs uproariously when Merlin explains the issue with the room.

“I’m very sorry,” the man at the desk says, frowning at his computer. “I think there is a mistake.”

“Yes,” Merlin says emphatically. “We need two beds.”

The man traces a finger down his computer’s screen as he shakes his head. “I’m very sorry. Two-bed rooms are all booked.”

“We’re the only people for the wedding even here,” Merlin protests. “Can’t I have one of the other rooms until another guest checks in?”

The man shakes his head. “We are booked all week. There are other guests in the rooms until the rest of your wedding arrives.”

“Does my room have two beds?” Gwaine asks, leaning over the desk to get a look at the computer.

“Yes.”

“How’d you get two beds if Leon isn’t even coming until the weekend?” Merlin asks.

Gwaine shrugs. “I don’t know, but I guess that means I have some nights to waste with a beautiful Faroese man.”

“I’m staying with you,” Merlin decides.

Arthur frowns and looks at the man behind the desk, hoping for some reason that he’ll object to the room-swapping. He just looks amused.

Gwaine leers at Merlin. “You going to make it worth my while?”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Arthur asks. He can’t help but feel offended at how obviously Merlin doesn’t want to share a bed with him.

Merlin looks over at him, surprised. “What, wouldn’t you rather have a bed to yourself?”

“Obviously, but—”

“Then I’m staying with Gwaine until Leon shows up. We’ll figure out what to do then. Maybe once everyone else has arrived we’ll be able to find another spare bed somewhere.”

Arthur isn’t sure why, but the thought of sleeping alone doesn’t appeal to him at all. Maybe it’s because of the new environment, or how chilly it is, or how much the hotel reminds him of a large summer cottage, or how he actually had packed ear plugs to block out Merlin’s snoring. Maybe it’s just because Merlin is being so serious about the whole thing. Normally Merlin would be laughing his way through the mix-up and making the most of it.

“Let’s head up, then,” Gwaine says. “I’m on the second floor.”

Arthur’s heart sinks as he realises they won’t even be near each other. He bids Merlin and Gwaine goodnight as cheerfully as he can and heaves his bags back up to the first floor and into his room.

The view is stunning, and the sun is finally starting to set so the sky is a cacophony of colours, but Arthur just feels lonely as he stands near the window and looks out over the water.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the morning, Merlin is as casual and friendly as he ever has been, so Arthur tries to put the room nonsense behind him. They go out for breakfast with Gwaine and review their plans for the day. Merlin’s main goal for the holiday is to see and draw as many lighthouses as possible, Arthur’s is to do as much walking as possible, and Gwaine’s is just to enjoy himself as much as possible.

Merlin and Arthur plan to start with two hikes, including a mostly uncharted one to see a remote lighthouse two islands to the east, but Gwaine decides to stay in Tórshavn to explore the shops and the food. Merlin puts up no fight against the idea of Gwaine staying behind, so they split ways. Gwaine leaves the restaurant and immediately sets off into town, and Merlin and Arthur head back to the hotel to get their gear.

Merlin drives the rental car up two-thirds of the island their hotel is on and then across most of the next island over before they reach the starting point for their first hike. It’s cold and windy and a little rainy, but Arthur can’t stop smiling. He spent a huge portion of his adolescence and young adulthood traveling with his father for various rock and mountain climbing trips, but he’s never seen anywhere like this before. Everything looks so big and so alone, and Arthur gets tingles on the back of his neck every time he stops to take in a view.

Merlin isn’t particularly good at hiking. Most of his hiking supplies turn out to be art supplies, and he’s laughably clumsy. Arthur doesn’t mind, though. Merlin still makes excellent company, if only because he is so, so excited about everything. Even if he weren’t, Arthur would still be having the time of his life. He hasn’t gone rock climbing since his accident, and he’s not sure he’ll ever want to again, regardless of whether he physically can, but walking—walking is something he could do every day for the rest of his life and still never want to stop.

It’s exhilarating to be out in nature, so far away from anything close to a city, and to find his own experiences along the way. For all he knows, he’s the only person on the entire planet who has noticed that particular rock, or stood in this exact spot to see how the sun hits those mountains, or heard that particular combination of bird calls. He’s certainly the only person who has to routinely stop and remind Merlin that not all sheep are friendly, and that getting too close to cliff edges isn’t safe, and that it’s not necessary to draw every inch of every island they stop foot on.

It’s past noon when they make it back to the car, so they drive a few minutes north to the nearest village for lunch. Despite not being much more than a small town, Fuglafjørður has several restaurants, a professional football pitch, and some strangely modern architecture mixed in with the usual brightly-coloured and moss-covered houses.

It turns out that the village also has both a vintage car museum and an old boat museum. Neither have regular hours, but during lunch Merlin accidentally makes friends with one of the men who works in the boat shop above the museum, so they’re able to get into both.

The boat builder gives them a tour of the museums in broken English, and Merlin gamely uses his Faroese phrase book in an attempt to make conversation. Arthur mostly stays out of it, happy to watch the culture exchange while perusing the old fishing hooks and vintage motorcycles.

After their tour, Merlin’s new friend takes them to see his own boat out in the harbour. Arthur trails along behind them, mostly looking at the mountains surrounding the village on three sides—the fourth side being the ocean—and wondering how a town could even come to be in such an improbable and isolated place.

When it starts to rain, Merlin and Arthur head back to their car and drive down the eastern coast until they reach a bridge to get to the next island. It’s a surpassingly short trip, and about 30 minutes after they leave Fuglafjørður, they’re on a ferry to yet another island. The ferry is named Sam for some reason, and Merlin spends the entirety of the 20-minute ride trying to find out why from the captain.

When they dock on Kalsoy, there’s so few houses that Arthur thinks this couldn’t possibly constitute an actual town. Beyond the village are more picturesque green fields and brown mountains.

“Someone should write a fantasy novel set here,” Arthur says as Merlin drives their car off the ferry. “Sod New Zealand and that _Hobbit_ shit. This is where it’s at.”

“Taking the Hobbiton set off your bucket list, then?” Merlin teases.

Arthur just opens up their map, even though there’s only one road on the island so it’s impossible for them to make a wrong turn. It would be less than 20 km to hike up to the lighthouse from where the ferry dropped them off, and they probably have enough daylight to make a return journey. It’s still raining, though, so they drive until they reach the island’s next village, which has less than 50 residents but is at least bigger than the port town.

Húsar is on an incline and there isn’t any flat land on either side of the road for them to stop on, so Merlin just drives into the village and parks on a dirt patch behind one of the houses. It’s only drizzling now, so they decide to walk down to the single dock jutting out into the ocean. The next island to the east is so close that Arthur can actually see a few houses across the water.

On their way back to the car, Merlin manages to find a coffee shop and they stop in for a warm drink and some pastry. Several locals have taken shelter from the rain in the shop, and so of course Merlin starts chatting one of them up right away, not at all deterred by the significant language barrier. Somehow he manages to get an elderly woman to invite him and Arthur into her house to use her toilet.

After letting her show them photos of her grandchildren, they get back to the car and drive 15 minutes to the next village. Merlin does pull over halfway into their drive to introduce himself to some sheep and make a few sketches.

Mikladalur is a bit more spread out than the previous village, and Merlin manages to find a somewhat flat stretch of field next to the main road. They park there and head into the town. The rain has stopped but the clouds remain, and Arthur is more certain than ever that the clouds are somehow lower in the Faroe Islands than in the UK.

They don’t pass any people or anything that looks like a shop, so they head straight for the water in search of a statue Merlin wants to see. It’s not hard to find the path down to it, and towards the end there’s an old rusty viewfinder that gives them a close-up look at the next island’s cliffs. They continue down a series of concrete staircases until they’re well below the village and standing on some rocks that are barely above the water level.

Out at the very end of the rocks is a blueish sculpture of a naked woman stepping out of a sealskin. She’s a 10-foot tall selkie, and Merlin falls in love immediately. He takes several photos of Arthur standing by it for scale, makes Arthur take several photos of him standing by it for fun, and then plops down to get to work on a watercolour painting.

Arthur walks along the rocky shore as Merlin paints, running his fingers under a few small waterfalls and taking in as much of the scenery as he can. The sun is still high, but it’s far enough west that the low eastern shore of Kalsoy is in shadow, and the western cliffs of the next island look bright and warm.

When Merlin shows no sign of wanting to leave anytime soon, Arthur looks through his guidebook to find information on the next island. It’s called Kunoy and there’s only two villages on it, totalling less than 150 people combined. There had once been a third village, but it was abandoned after all the able-bodied men—all 7 of them—died in fishing accident in 1913. The ruins of the old houses are still there though, as well as a new red shed available as shelter for tourist hikers. There are two paths to the ruins: a 3-hour walk from the closer extant village, and an 8-hour hike from the farther one, apparently only recommended for experienced mountain hikers accompanied by a guide. Arthur is immediately intrigued by the idea of an 8-hour perilous hike through barren Faroese mountains, but knows none of the other wedding guests would be able to go along with him. He decides to mention the shorter, easier hike to Merlin and see if they can fit it into their schedule since they’re already a day ahead after seeing the waterfall the previous day.

Eventually Merlin is satisfied with his work, so he packs up and follows Arthur back to the car. They check the map and realise that it won’t take them very long to walk to the next village, and from there they can go find the lighthouse that was the ultimate point of visiting the island of Kalsoy.

They don’t stop in the village of Trøllanes for anything other than a few photos of the idyllic tiny town nestled between mountains and the ocean. Merlin quickly veers off the path and leads them to a fence with a red gate, presumably to keep the sheep out—or maybe in. They cross through the gate and head up the mountain with no real idea of where they are going because there is no path and no sign of the lighthouse. They pass a few stone sheep houses on the way, and those end up being the only landmarks to help them orient themselves.

Fog starts to roll in as they climb higher, making it impossible to spot the lighthouse from a distance. Merlin doesn’t seem worried though, and Arthur can’t blame him. The mountain is the most cheerful shade of green he’s ever seen, the parts of the sky that they can still see are a lovely blue, and in every direction is a view of either a nearby mountain or another island with its own mountains. After a while they can’t see the village anymore, and it feels like they are alone in the world, exploring virgin territory with endless possibilities of what they might find.

Mostly what they find are more sheep.

In the end, they find the lighthouse by luck. It’s on top of a hill and there’s a much higher mountain peak right next to it, but viewed from a certain angle, the lighthouse looks like it’s on top of the world. The clouds are so low that Arthur thinks he could probably touch them if they climbed up the taller mountain.

Naturally, Merlin sits to do some more watercolouring, so Arthur heads down a narrow clifftop to a smaller peak jutting right out over the water. More fog rolls in, obscuring the mountain and making it hard to pick out the white lighthouse. Not wanting to risk the precarious hike back in these worse conditions, Arthur sits on the grass and admires the grey view of the surrounding islands until the fog clears.

When he makes it back to the lighthouse, Merlin is packing up his supplies.

“Do you want to try for up there?” Arthur asks, pointing up at the mountain. It’s a very steep climb, but it looks straightforward enough. The side of the mountain isn’t very wide, and there’s not much variation in the terrain, so they would basically just have to walk straight up until they reached the top.

Merlin looks skeptical. “Wouldn’t we need, like, actual hiking gear to get up something that steep?”

Arthur grins and pulls out some extendable trekking poles from his bag.

“How did you get these on the plane?” Merlin asks, poking the sharp end of one with his fingertip.

“I checked them. You think I’d try to bring these on my hand luggage? Just for that, we’re definitely doing it.”

Merlin pretends to be put out but follows Arthur anyway, and they make pretty good progress until they come to a sharp cliff face that’s taller than both of them and solid rock. It goes across the entire side of the mountain, so there’s no getting around it.

Merlin pokes at the rocks with his trekking pole. “Somehow I don’t think this will work.”

Arthur stuffs his poles back into his bag and tests out a few rocks until he finds one that will fit the toe of his boot and hold his weight.

“Come on,” he says, grinning over his shoulder at an incredulous-looking Merlin. “If I can do it with two bad feet, surely you can do it with two good ones.” With that, he climbs up the rocks. It turns out not to be that difficult, although he does have to yank a trekking pole out of his bag and shove it into the ground to help him heave himself over the final rock and back onto grass and gravel.

He turns to help guide Merlin and sees for the first time how high up they are. His stomach drops a little and he panics, thinking that he is absolutely crazy for trying this and that they should head back down immediately before they fall to their deaths.

But then Merlin scrambles up the cliff even faster than he had, and they’re most of the way to the top already, so he quashes his fear and leads the rest of the way up.

There’s another steep rock cliff to climb as the final barrier to the top. It takes them nearly 20 minutes to navigate it, and there are several very close calls when they lose their footing.

But then they reach the top, and Arthur forgets everything else.

It’s not the tallest mountain in the Faroe Islands—it’s not even the tallest mountain on the island of Kalsoy—but the view is breathtaking. There’s clouds above them and fog below them and nothing but water and more mountains in between.

Arthur has never felt more alone and yet more connected with the earth.

Merlin sniffs and Arthur turns to see him wiping tears out of his eyes.

“Merlin?” Arthur takes a step toward him, wondering if they’re too high and if the altitude is affecting him.

Merlin gives Arthur a huge smile and Arthur can’t stop himself from pulling Merlin into a hug.

“This is beautiful,” Merlin whispers. “Thank you.”

They stay up on the mountain until sunset, huddled together under a very thin blanket Arthur had stashed in the bottom of his pack. It’s stunning and they watch it in silence until Merlin mutters, “They should have sent a poet,” and they break down in exhausted laughter.

When the sun is down, they quickly eat the few provisions they’d packed that morning and then hurry down the steepest parts of the mountain before the light is gone completely.

It’s fully dark by the time they reach their car, and only then does Arthur realise the ferry probably doesn’t run at night. He keeps this thought to himself as Merlin drives them back down to the southern end of the island, which takes less than 30 minutes.

They find a small posting near the dock with the ferry timetable. They’ve missed the last ferry by well over an hour and it’s now past midnight. Merlin proposes knocking on the doors of the nearby houses—there are less than 10—and seeing if the ferryman lives in any of them and if they could bribe him to take them across.

Arthur doesn’t exactly have a better idea. They’ll freeze if they try to sleep in the car.

But then he remembers the woman in Húsar who let them use her loo, so they get back in the car and drive up to the village.

The woman seems remarkably unsurprised when they knock on her door, and she welcomes them into her home as if they are her long-lost sons and cooks them some fish for dinner.

Her name is Ýr and she lives alone, but she has an extra bedroom from when her children lived with her. Arthur is so exhausted from the mountain climbing that he doesn’t even blink at the lone bed in the spare room, but Merlin requests to sleep out on the sofa.

For the second night in a row, Arthur finds himself staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping, wondering what he could have possibly done to make Merlin so averse to sleeping in the same room with him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the morning, Ýr cooks them some more fish for breakfast before sending them on their way with their pockets full of biscuits. They don’t have to wait long for the ferry, and after that it takes about an hour to drive back to the hotel.

By now, Morgana and Elena have arrived, as well as Gwen and her boyfriend Lance. A few more of Morgana and Elena’s friends will trickle in that evening and the next day, filling up most of the rest of the hotel. That only leaves Leon, Gwen’s brother Elyan, and Elena’s father Godwyn, who are all flying in the day before the wedding. It’s a small wedding, but the brides chose their location carefully to ensure that as few people as possible would even be able to attend. They didn’t want something grand and glorious—they just wanted their friends and beautiful scenery.

Arthur drops his bag off in his room and then heads up to Gwaine’s to get his trekking poles back from Merlin. He finds Morgana in there as well, having her hair plaited by Gwaine.

“Thought you might have died,” Gwaine says mildly.

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asks, looking around for Merlin’s bag.

“Gwen snatched him as soon as he stepped inside,” Morgana says, reaching up to hug Arthur and forcing him to lean down for it so she doesn’t have to move away from Gwaine. “We heard you didn’t come back to the hotel last night.”

Arthur sits down on the edge of the other bed. “Yeah, we went hiking on another island yesterday and missed the last ferry, so we had to stay in this random village.”

“Was it a bed and breakfast?” Gwaine asks.

Arthur snorts. “No, it was just a woman’s house. Merlin made friends with her earlier in the day, so when we realised we were stuck there, we went back to her house and she let us kip there.”

“That’s very bohemian of you, Arthur,” Morgana teases. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. What do you all have planned for the day?”

“Gwen wants to go see this funny lake that’s back near the airport. Come along?”

Arthur had already seen the lake with Merlin on their first day, but it had been too foggy to get much of a view, so he agrees to tag along. He stays in Gwaine’s room a while, listening to Gwaine and Morgana compare which parts of the city they’d explored the day before, until Merlin finally returns with Gwen, Lance, and Elena in tow.

Merlin gives Arthur back his trekking poles and excuses himself to take a shower, and Arthur goes back to his room to do the same. By the time everyone is ready to go to the lake, it’s actually lunch time, so they set off to find food first.

Arthur ends up ordering a fish burger, and even though he’s a little sick of eating so much fish, it’s delicious. He enjoys the company of the group and starts getting excited about the upcoming wedding ceremony. It feels much more like a celebration and less like a holiday now that more people are there.

When they’re all done eating, Merlin takes Arthur and Gwaine in his car, and Gwen takes Morgana, Elena, and Lance in hers, and they all drive back to the island with the airport.

The weather is nicer than it had been on his and Merlin’s first trip, and so they take a lot of detours on their walk to the best viewing spot. The hike starts with yet another gate, and Arthur snaps a photo of it, wishing he’d photographed the other ones as well and wondering how many more walking trails are marked by sheep gates.

Arthur’s legs are sore from the amount of hiking he did yesterday, but he pushes himself anyway. The views are too beautiful to miss out on, and there are a couple of stray benches along the trail where he can rest when he needs.

They hike around the perimeter of the lake for a while before heading out onto a nearby cliff to get a better view. The lake actually sits on top of its own cliff, and when Arthur and his friends have enough distance between them and the lake that they can see it, the cliffs, and the ocean below it, it makes for a surreal picture. The lake looks like it’s floating 100 meters above the ocean.

“Why are my eyes so confused by this?” Gwaine asks, squinting at the lake. “And why isn’t there a waterfall?”

“I think that cliff is taller than it looks,” Arthur says, pointing the to rocks bordering the lake. “You can kind of tell that all the grass is angling down. The lake isn’t that high—it’s just the cliff.”

“Yeah… no, I don’t get it.” Gwaine laughs and takes a few photos anyway.

When the wind starts picking up enough to blow Merlin off his feet a little, they start the trek back to their cars.

“Where to next?” Merlin asks.

“We’re going shopping,” Gwen says, unlocking her rental car. “You can come with us.”

Merlin glances over at Arthur. “I was thinking maybe checking out another island.”

Arthur grins, glad that Merlin isn’t too sore or tired to keep exploring. “Yeah, we might go hike around some more.”

“Can I come?” Elena asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Merlin says, opening the passenger door for her.

Elena gives Morgana a kiss goodbye and slides into Merlin’s car. Gwen, Morgana, and Lance drive off and the rest of them get into Merlin’s car to discuss their options.

Arthur brings up the abandoned village he’d read about in Merlin’s guidebook, and to his surprise everyone agrees that they’d like to see it. They make a quick stop back at the hotel to pack for a proper hike, and then Merlin drives them to one of the two villages on Kunoy. It takes about 90 minutes, and they have to drive across multiple other islands, but eventually they make it to the rock-lined causeway that leads them to the village of Haraldssund.

Once they’ve parked and set off on their hike, Arthur leads the way, excited to see the ruins of the old village. After 30 minutes, however, his excitement dies down. He keeps trying to engage with Merlin—to talk to him about the cliffs of the other island across the water, or about the low clouds, or about the tiny waterfalls they keep climbing over—but Merlin keeps dodging him.

In a larger group it might not be noticeable, but there’s only four of them, and it becomes obvious quite quickly that Merlin is only interested in being with Gwaine on the hike.

That leaves Arthur with Elena, who is cheerful and sweet and always entertaining, but who is also decidedly not his best friend. She tells him how the wedding ceremony will go and what the reception will be like and the itinerary for her and Morgana’s honeymoon to Iceland. It’s nice conversation, but it does little to distract Arthur from how glued at the hip Merlin and Gwaine suddenly are.

He wonders why Merlin is willing to share a room with Gwaine but not with him. He wonders if Merlin would be this against sharing a bed with Gwaine. Maybe they _are_ sharing a bed. Maybe Merlin isn’t even sleeping in the second bed in Gwaine’s room, and maybe it won’t matter once Leon arrives because all three of them could happily fit in one room if Merlin and Gwaine share a bed.

Maybe they’re secretly dating.

Or at least secretly fucking.

Part of Arthur knows that that’s unlikely. Merlin’s never expressed any interest in Gwaine, and Gwaine isn’t exactly subtle about who he’s fucking most of the time. And they’ve all been friends for so long that it wouldn’t make sense for them to randomly get together now.

But another part of Arthur is confused and hurt and jealous. He can’t make sense of Merlin’s behaviour, and a secret affair with Gwaine is as good an explanation as any.

“Arthur?”

Arthur realises that Elena has asked him a question. “Sorry. I was… thinking.”

“I could tell,” Elena says with a wide smile. She’s so rough around the edges that it’s endlessly endearing, and Arthur has no trouble seeing why Morgana fell in love with her. She’s goofy and happy and silly and—and like Merlin. Merlin serves the same function in Arthur’s life as Elena does in Morgana’s and the force of that realisation makes Arthur stumble.

“Careful!” Elena grabs Arthur’s arm at the last second, preventing him from falling on his arse. She rights him but doesn’t let go of his arm. “All right?”

“Yeah, just… slippery rock.” It’s not a good excuse since they’re in a dry patch between waterfalls, but Elena doesn’t comment.

Arthur shrugs out of Elena’s grip and crouches down to check his braces, which he knows are fine but give him a good enough reason to stall. Gwaine and Merlin are ahead and he wants to put more distance between them and himself.

“Do you see that?” Elena asks when Arthur stands, pointing farther up the island.

Arthur squints. “See what?”

“There’s a house.”

Arthur frowns. “There shouldn’t be.”

“It’s red. Don’t you see it?”

Arthur scans the hillside and finally sees what might be a tiny spot of red. “Probably the shed they’ve put up. It’s in the village, so we’re close. Or… well, not close, but closing in.”

“OI!”

Arthur shifts his gaze to where Gwaine and Merlin have stopped hiking ahead of them.

“ALL RIGHT?” Gwaine shouts, waving his arms as if Arthur might have trouble spotting them.

“FINE,” Arthur shouts back.

He waits for Gwaine and Merlin to turn around and start off again before doing the same with Elena. The hike is fairly straightforward, but sometimes the tiny waterfalls are tricky to get across. A few of them are quite wide, and all of them are steep and slippery. Arthur and Elena have to get fairly intimate to help each other across some of them, grabbing onto each other’s waists and holding on tight to various limbs for support. Arthur doesn’t mind, but he can’t stop thinking about Gwaine and Merlin doing the same thing up ahead. It would be different for them. It would probably be a nice bonding experience.

By the time they reach the ruins, Arthur can barely bring himself to even look at Merlin or Gwaine. He manages to get Elena to stay with them though, so he is able to explore the ruins on his own.

The ruins are just piles of rocks where houses used to be, but they’re exciting anyway. No one has lived here for 100 years and most likely no one ever will again. They’re three-hours walking distance away from the nearest village, there’s no nearby towns on the island across the water, and there’s no reason to be here other than to see the ruins of Skarð. It’s isolated and desolate and actually very sad. He can’t imagine what it must have been like to live here, so far from everything, and then have half the village lost so quickly in one accident.

Eventually, after Arthur has scoured every inch of the ruins to burn them into his memory forever, he joins his friends in the shelter for lunch. There’s tables in the shed, and a guestbook that they all sign.

They stay inside for a while, with Gwaine, Merlin, and Elena discussing excursion ideas for the rest of the day, and by the time they head back out, the ruins are shrouded in fog.

“Shit,” Gwaine says. “Can we get back in this?”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Arthur says before setting off.

He wishes he could hike back by himself, but it’s not really possible with all the waterfalls, so he teams up with Elena again. The fog adds an extra challenge of not being able to see very far ahead, so eventually they join up with Gwaine and Merlin to navigate the hike as a group. Merlin doesn’t seem upset by the prospect of hiking with Arthur, but he doesn’t exactly make Arthur feel wanted or welcome, so Arthur tries to keep to himself as much as possible.

It takes almost 4 hours to get back to Merlin’s car, and by then Arthur is exhausted. His legs and back are aching from how hard he’s pushed himself over the past two days, and he doesn’t have much motivation to keep going with his present company.

He tries to sleep on the way back to the hotel, but he’s never been able to fall asleep in cars, so instead he sits in the back with his eyes closed and pretends he can’t hear the happy, mindless chatter going on amongst the other passengers.

Morgana isn’t at the hotel when they arrive, so Gwaine and Elena set out into the city to find her and Gwen and Lance. Merlin asks Arthur if he wants to find a cafe for some coffee and a snack. His offer sounds genuine, and he acts as if he hasn’t spent the last 7 or 8 hours ignoring Arthur. Arthur doesn’t know what to do with that, so he declines the offer and goes up to his room to shower and nap.

He ends up not coming out for the rest of the night. He stays in his room reading a book and writing about the hikes in a journal and drinking a local beer that Gwaine drops off for him.

He wants to go back out and have a good time, but he can’t seem to shake feeling rejected. He knows that Merlin hasn’t rejected him, that they’re still friends, that nothing demonstrably bad has happened. But he doesn’t know how else to interpret the dynamics on that hike.

In the end, he chalks up his bad mood to his sore body and goes to bed early.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning, Arthur wakes up just in time to hop into Gwen’s car for another trip to Vágar, the island with the airport. More of Morgana and Elena’s friends had arrived the previous day while Arthur had been hiking and hiding in his room, so the group has three completely packed cars.

When they arrive on the western coast of Vágar, everyone piles onto a ferry that will take them to the island of Mykines, which is inhabited mostly by birds.

The ferry ride is choppy, but the views are excellent. There’s no fog to be seen, and there are plenty of interesting coastlines and rock formations. Arthur spends the whole journey on the upper deck, taking as many photos as he can.

When they dock, most of the group heads into the exceedingly small village, also named Mykines, leaving only a few hikers to meet the tour guides. Merlin wants to go to the lighthouse on an islet to the far northwest of the island, but Gwen and Lance and the rest of the remaining group want to go on a more bird-centric hike through the middle of the island.

That leaves Arthur, who would prefer the trickier and more isolated hike to the lighthouse if it weren’t for the prospect of spending several hours alone with Merlin and their guide.

“Will you come with me?” Merlin asks, surprising Arthur. As with his offer to go to a cafe the evening before, he seems to very genuinely want Arthur to accompany him.

Against his better judgement, Arthur agrees, and the three of them set off. Their guide is named Ansgar and he looks to be well into his 60s, but he moves as quickly as Merlin and Arthur want. As it turns out, it’s not actually that quickly at all. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of puffins on the trail, and they are so stupidly adorable that neither Merlin or Arthur can help but stop every few minutes to observe and take pictures.

The puffins are small and round with big black eyes and overlarge orange beaks. They make an awful noise and an awful mess along the hillsides, but they look so sweet and dumb that Arthur can’t stop smiling every time they come across more.

For his part, Merlin seems to feel the same way about puffins as he does about sheep. The puffins aren’t perturbed when they hike nearby, but they won’t let Merlin get close enough to touch them. Merlin doesn’t stop trying though, despite the obvious disapproval of their guide.

The birds are engaging enough that Arthur completely forgets that he was worried about spending time with Merlin. Merlin is happy and energetic and exactly the same way he always is, and it’s easy for Arthur to just focus on that.

Eventually, the guide leads them down to an old bridge that will take them across a small stretch of the Atlantic ocean and onto the islet with the lighthouse.

When they reach their destination, Merlin sits down to draw, so Arthur walks out past the lighthouse to the very edge of the islet. He stands on the cliff and gazes out over endless open ocean. His thoughts fade to nothing until he barely registers the sound of the wind or the ocean lapping against the rocks below.

He feels like he’s at the end of the world.

Then Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s chest and Arthur sinks back into his embrace.

“I’d get married here,” Merlin says softly. “Morgana and Elena made a good choice.”

Arthur’s breath stutters as he registers the urge to turn around and kiss Merlin. It’s overwhelming—he feels it in his stomach, a yearning to have Merlin’s dry lips pressed against his own—and he digs his hands into his pockets, squeezing his fingernails into his palm.

“Want some lunch?” Merlin asks, oblivious.

“Yeah,” Arthur manages.

Merlin steps away and Arthur lets him get a few steps ahead before following him back to where their guide has sat to eat. They join him, Merlin sharing his food with Arthur since Arthur hadn’t had time to pack any that morning, and tell him about their previous expeditions around the islands. He asks about Arthur’s braces, so Arthur shares his story and gets to hear about the guide’s multitude of hiking accidents in return.

When their food is gone and digested, they start the hike back to the village. Merlin spends it still trying to get as close as possible to as many puffins as possible. Arthur takes a few photos of birds along the way, but spends most of the trip preoccupied with what he had felt at the lighthouse—and how strongly he had felt it.

He had never thought about Merlin that way before. At least not seriously. Merlin is fun and attractive, and there had been a few moments early on in their friendship where Arthur had wondered what the possibilities between them might be. But nothing had happened, and he had outgrown his fledgling crush to focus on the incredible friendship they’d managed to form. They have something so much better than whatever short-lived affair they might have had. They understand each other. They care for each other. They take the piss out of each other and never take each other too seriously, and they can always find a way to laugh together.

Merlin is easily Arthur’s best friend, and favourite person, and— _shit,_ Arthur thinks. How had he not noticed this happening?

It’s raining by the time they reach the village, so Arthur goes into a bright blue building that serves as a bed and breakfast for birding enthusiasts who want to stay on the island for more than a day. Gwen and Lance are in there, too, so he orders a coffee and joins them at a window where they can watch Merlin sprinting off toward some sheep.

“How was the lighthouse?” Gwen asks.

“Lovely. How were the birds?”

“Very silly.”

“Yeah.” Arthur takes a long sip of his coffee and then asks, “Do you think that… I’m…” He sighs and stares into his mug. “I’m getting a lot of mixed signals from Merlin,” he says after a moment. “He ignored me all of yesterday, but today he’s back to being, you know, normal. He won’t share the room you booked for us, but he’s happy to share with Gwaine. And he spent our whole hike yesterday with Gwaine instead of me, and it was, I mean, I don’t think I’m being paranoid—it seemed entirely intentional.”

Arthur glances up to see Gwen and Lance giving each other a significant look.

“Am I missing something very obvious?” he asks, annoyed.

“No,” Gwen says, looking out the window. “Just let him be. You can’t expect him to be on 100% of the time.”

“I’m not—I wasn’t! There’s a difference between ‘being on’ and acting normal around your mates, who have all known each other long enough not to need to ‘be on’ all the time.”

“Maybe he just wants a proper holiday,” Lance suggests. “Like, with space from everyone.”

“Why’s he keep glomming onto Gwaine, then? They’re not _that_ close.”

Lance scoffs and takes a drink of his coffee to avoid meeting Arthur’s indignant glare.

“They are close,” Gwen says calmly. “Do you want to come back out with us?”

“No,” Arthur mutters. They go outside and he stays in the bed and breakfast with his coffee, looking out the window at the miserable weather until Morgana comes to chastise him for being a wet blanket.

Arthur follows Morgana and Elena around for the last hour of their stay on Mykines. They mostly walk around the town and take photos of birds, and then it’s time to board the ferry back to Vágar. He sticks with the brides-to-be for the rest of the evening, tagging along to different shops in Tórshavn, going to dinner with them, even watching a film on Morgana’s laptop back in their room at the hotel.

Eventually, they kick him out and he retires to his own room. Merlin is there, sprawled across the bed and reading Arthur’s book.

“There you are,” Merlin says. He sits up with a grunt. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur says automatically. He crosses to the window and looks out over the water, amazed at how light it still is outside.

“You seemed really grumpy after it started raining,” Merlin points out. “Want to go out for a beer? Gwaine found a pub that hosts the annual pride march. Or something. I think his information was heavily mistranslated, but it could be fun.”

Naturally, Gwaine would find the one queer bar in the whole country. And, naturally, Merlin would want to go with him. Because apparently they are very close.

“No, thanks. I’ve still got some bottles he gave me last night, so I’ll probably just have one and head to bed.”

Merlin frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m just tired. Go out and have fun, though.”

Merlin shrugs and leaves to find Gwaine. Arthur drinks two more bottles of the beer Gwaine had given him before taking a shower and crawling into his bed. He normally sleeps alone in his flat in London, so it shouldn’t feel any different than that—especially since he’s been sleeping alone every night of the trip so far—but for some reason the bed in the hotel feels exceptionally empty and cold.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Arthur eats breakfast with Lance in a small cafe by the hotel. They’re joined halfway through by Gwaine, who looks like he’s had a rough night.

“Merlin’s in worse shape,” Gwaine says, resting his head in one hand. “He might be dead.”

“Good of you to check before coming to breakfast,” Arthur says. He’s not amused at the idea of Gwaine and Merlin getting sloshed together in what may or may not have been a gay club.

“He was breathing,” Gwaine says around a yawn. “By which I mean snoring. Loudly.”

“Do you think he’ll still want to go on the hike?” Lance asks.

“At some point.” Gwaine reaches for Arthur’s coffee and takes a long gulp. “Fuck me,” he groans.

Arthur rolls his eyes and pushes his plate across the table so Gwaine can pick at his leftovers. “I’ll go make sure he’s not choking on his own vomit.”

“He’s not that bad,” Gwaine says before turning an unconvincing shade of grey and pushing Arthur’s plate away.

Arthur goes back to the hotel and up to the second floor to knock on Gwaine’s door. There’s no response at first, so he knocks louder and louder until he hears Merlin groaning pathetically on the other side of the door. After that, he continues knocking until Merlin manages to let him in.

“Why’re you so mean?” Merlin mutters, flopping back down on the bed.

Arthur can’t help but smile at the sight of him. He’s wearing his clothes from the day before, and his hair is sticking up in the most untidy directions.

“Not mean, just concerned. Do you want breakfast?”

“God, no. Never again.”

“Never again, huh?” Arthur chuckles. “How much did you drink?”

“How much _didn’t_ I drink?” Merlin mumbles in response.

Arthur yanks the blankets off the other bed and drapes them over Merlin. “Go back to sleep, then.”

“Wha’bou’hike?”

“You actually want to hike like this?” Arthur leans down to brush the hair off Merlin’s face, and Merlin smiles dopily up at him. He wants to give Merlin a soothing kiss, wants to lie down and cuddle with Merlin until the hangover goes away. He straightens up and takes a step away from the bed instead.

“What time is it?”

“9:30. We’d need to leave by 11 or 12 at the latest to get back in time for dinner tonight.”

Merlin groans and waves his hand vaguely. Arthur laughs and adjusts the window blinds to make the room a little darker.

“I’ll come back in an hour and see how you’re feeling.”

Merlin doesn’t respond, so Arthur leaves and goes up to his room to read.

Half an hour later there’s a knock on the door, and Arthur opens it expecting to find an ill Merlin begging out of the hike. Instead, he finds Leon, one of his and Morgana’s oldest friends.

“Vælkomin til Føroyar!”

Arthur holds back a laugh. “What is that?”

“It means ‘Welcome to the Faroe Islands’. I think.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, then?”

Leon flips through the phrasebook he’s holding. “Hvar er vesi?”

“Yeah, that one I know, and I’m pretty sure there’s a toilet in your own room.”

Leon grins and gives Arthur a hug before inviting himself in.

“How’s it been so far?” he asks, plopping down on Arthur’s bed.

“Great. Lots of hiking, lots of birds, lots of cliffs and clouds and… fog, mostly. Oh, and sheep.”

Leon chuckles and implores Arthur to tell him of every excursion he’s missed due to not being able to get off work for the week.

At 11:15, they head up to Leon and Gwaine’s room. To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin is up and dressed and even freshly showered.

“You’re alive,” Arthur says, impressed.

“Leon woke me up when he banged in with all his bags,” Merlin explains. “And then I found a beer, so…”

Leon laughs and sits on one of the beds. “Why were you sleeping in here, anyway? Don’t you have your own room?”

There’s an awkward silence and Leon looks between Merlin and Arthur, his brow furrowed.

“It’s a long story,” Arthur finally says when Merlin shows no sign of wanting to explain himself. “Are we all ready? Where’s Gwaine and Lance?”

“In here!” Gwaine calls from the bathroom.

“Both of you?” Leon shouts back.

They hear the toilet flush and the sink run for a minute, and then Gwaine emerges.

“Nah, just me. I think Lance is downstairs. Everyone packed?”

There’s a murmur of agreement and they all go down to the lobby where Lance is chatting with the hotel staff. They manage to extract him and head to Leon’s car, which is bigger than the one Merlin had rented, and pile in. Since he doesn’t have to drive, Merlin sleeps—snoring loudly—for the full hour it takes to reach the northern part of the next island over. Leon finds a parking spot on a mountain pass between towns on either coast of Eysturoy, and then they begin the walk up to Slættaratindur, the tallest mountain on any of the islands.

Arthur had originally wanted to take a longer trail from a city on the very northern tip of the island that would take them across the second-highest mountain as well, but it would have taken a significant portion of the day and they would have had to leave much earlier to make it back in time for the fancy dinner that Elena’s father is treating them to that evening.

The walk from their parking spot is short, and they make it up to the summit in less than an hour. It starts with another gate, which Arthur takes a picture of with his friends already hiking beyond it, and is fairly easy until they get closer to the top, where the ground is just loose gravel that keeps slipping out from under their shoes.

They stay close as a group, with Leon continuing to ask questions about other walks they’ve all gone on. Arthur is pleased to see that Merlin doesn’t stray off with Gwaine, although that might be due to Gwaine’s lingering hangover. All in all, it turns out to be a pleasant, though steep hike.

The top of the mountain is completely flat, offering expansive views at every turn. The entirety of the Faroe Islands is visible, and the sky is so clear that Arthur can even see something else off the far, far distance. When he checks his map, he finds that it’s Iceland.

“Have all the hikes been like this?” Leon asks, joining Arthur at the eastern corner.

“What, short or gorgeous?”

Leon laughs and drops his bag before sitting down. “I mean the views.”

“Then yes.” Arthur sits down next to Leon and starts pulling out the lunch he’d packed. “It’s like another world, right?”

“It’s pretty unbelievable,” Leon agrees.

Arthur turns around to call over the rest of the group and sees Gwaine and Merlin already sitting at the other end of the summit, near one of the wind shelters built out of boulders. Trying his hardest to ignore how dejected the sight makes him feel, Arthur flags Lance over and the three of them enjoy their lunch in silence as they look out over the world below.

They have the summit to themselves for about 30 minutes before another group of hikers joins them. They don’t speak English or Faroese, so the two groups are completely unable to communicate, but they still share food with each other.

When they’ve spent enough time at the top that they’re pushing their luck to get back to the hotel in time to get ready for dinner, they start heading down the mountain again. Merlin slows them all down by getting distracted by some sheep and then makes up for it by driving Leon’s car so quickly that they arrive at the hotel in less than 50 minutes.

Arthur takes a quick shower, followed by Leon since Gwaine and Merlin have hogged his, and dresses in a suit before rushing down to the lobby. Gwen’s brother, Elyan, is there, along with Elena’s father. Godwyn smiles jovially and greets them all like his own children. Arthur gives him a long hug and introduces him around to the wedding guests he hadn’t met yet.

It’s a 15 minute drive to KOKS, the Faroe Island’s only Michelin-starred restaurant. They are all served a 17-course tasting menu, along with wine pairings, and it’s the most unique gastronomic experience Arthur has ever had. He can’t imagine how much money Godwyn is shelling out to treat so many people to such an extravagant dinner.

They feast on ancient clams, cod bladders, wind-dried mutton, monkfish, foraged herbs and seaweed, more fish and sheep than Arthur even knows what to do with, and enough wine to last him through the wedding the next afternoon.

Merlin and Elena are the only ones who truly tries every single dish. Most people skip at least one, either due to being full or turned off by the description. Arthur skips the fulmar, a plump bird that definitely isn’t a puffin, but reminds him enough of it that he can’t bring himself to eat it—especially because it’s covered in a beetroot sauce that looks disturbingly like blood.

With each new round of wine, there are extravagant toasts to the brides, who can’t stop smiling at each other. It’s beautiful and romantic and sweet, and Arthur finds himself longing for something like this. He’s beside himself with how happy he is for his sister finding the love of her life and orchestrating such a fantastic wedding getaway, but underneath that is just a deep feeling of emptiness and need.

Merlin is sitting across the table from Arthur, and while it’s been hard to converse with all the noise of everyone else talking around them, their eyes keep meeting. At first, Arthur is sober enough to just smile and look away when it happens, but by his fifth wine sample, he just lets the glances linger. Merlin’s eyes crinkle around the edges when he’s genuinely smiling, and Arthur’s never noticed how addictive it is to watch his eyes and spot when he’s truly amused or when he’s just smiling to be polite. When he has a real smile, his eyes almost disappear because his cheekbones are so high up that, when he grins, his cheeks push his lower eyelids right up over them. He smiles like a character from a children’s cartoon. Except there’s nothing innocent about his smile because his lips are simply too much. They stretch wide with each devastating smile, but they still manage to be distractingly full. Especially the bottom one. By the end of the night, Arthur hates that bottom lip so much.

Slowly, small portions of the group start heading back to the hotel after Godwyn pays the bill, until it’s just a core group left at the table. There’s Morgana and Elena, Arthur and Godwyn, Gwen and Lance, and Gwaine and Merlin.

Whatever is going on between Merlin and Gwaine isn’t on display, though. Everyone is pleasantly warm from the wine and being affectionate with their touch and loose with their words, but Merlin is sitting next to Gwaine and hardly seems to care. He’s flushed and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and every time Arthur looks away from Morgana, he’s staring.

It gets to be too much, so Arthur gets in Godwyn’s car for the ride back to the hotel. The man at the front desk greets them with two complimentary bottles of wine, one for tomorrow’s brides and one for Arthur and Godwyn to share. Godwyn graciously gives the second bottle to Arthur before retiring to his room.

Arthur stays in the lobby for a bit, drinking with Elena and his sister until he feels that he’s pushing his luck. Gwaine and the rest of Merlin’s car had gone out for more drinks after parking at the hotel, but Arthur knows they’ll be back soon enough, especially with the wedding the next day. No one will want to be too hungover for that.

After a round of hugs, Arthur goes up to his room. He finishes most of the wine without realising it and has to hide it in the shower before he gets too drunk to stop himself from drinking the whole bottle.

He gets ready for bed, peeling off his suit and pulling on a fresh pair of trunks and a clean t-shirt. As he’s settling down with his book, thinking about drinking the rest of the wine anyway, he hears a commotion in the hall. Gwaine is shouting about something and then there’s Gwen’s voice, and Leon’s, too.

Arthur gets up and peeks out into the hall. Merlin is trailing behind the loud parade, yanking at the tie around his neck.

“Hey,” Arthur calls, waving his arm to get Merlin’s attention.

Merlin turns on a dime, heading to Arthur’s room without question.

“Oh,” he says when he reaches the door. “You’re… not dressed.”

Arthur looks down at himself. “Well, I’ve got clothes on. I’m not naked.”

“No,” Merlin says quietly. “You’re not.”

“Come in?” Arthur asks, stepping aside.

Merlin pauses for a moment but then enters, closing the door behind himself.

“Wine?” Arthur asks, mostly just to say anything to break the tension. Merlin is still _staring_ at him, and Arthur doesn’t have the willpower to look away.

Merlin nods so Arthur retrieves the bottle from the shower.

“Why do you keep your wine in the toilet?” Merlin asks. He declines Arthur’s used glass and drinks straight from the bottle.

“In the shower,” Arthur corrects him. “I was trying to hide it from myself. Not sure why, since it would have gone bad by morning anyway. Should have just dumped it.”

“Down your throat?” Merlin teases.

“Down the sink.” Arthur sits on his bed, reaching for the wine. He takes a swig before handing it back, their fingers brushing over each other.

Merlin has a few long sips of the wine and then says, “That was some fucking weird food, right?”

Arthur laughs so hard he slides off the bed. Merlin joins him on the floor and they slip into more familiar territory, recounting the strange things they’d eaten and passing the bottle between them. Arthur takes off the soft braces he’d put on and Merlin tries to put them on his own feet before declaring them useless and flinging them over his head.

When the wine is gone, Merlin sets the bottle on its side and spins it. It slows with the neck pointing toward the dresser, so Merlin leans forward and gives it a kiss.

Arthur means to say something witty or insulting or at least related to the bizarre display, but instead he asks, “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“Dunno,” Merlin says, tracing the label on the bottle with his fingertips.

“You could sleep here,” Arthur says quietly. “This is meant to be your room.”

“I don’t want to.”

He says it so clearly, so sure, that Arthur’s chest aches. “Why not?” he asks. “You’ve been—I haven’t done—You have to give me an answer.”

“No, I don’t,” Merlin says.

Arthur grabs the bottle, his fingers wrapping around Merlin’s hand as well. Merlin looks up in surprise and Arthur sets his jaw.

“How long have you been sleeping with Gwaine?”

Merlin blinks and Arthur notices for the first time how long his eyelashes are.

“I’m not sleeping with Gwaine.”

“Then _why_ —”

“Because I can’t,” Merlin says, nearly shouting. He pulls his hand away and gets unsteadily to his feet. “I can’t do that with you. Is that so unforgivable?”

“Why… Can’t do what? Sleep in the same room?” Arthur asks, indignant. “I’m not the one who snores!”

“No, you dollop-head. Sleep in the same _bed_.” He heaves a sigh before kicking the wine bottle out of Arthur’s loose grip.

“Why not?” Arthur presses, feeling too close to the edge to back away.

“Because I—” Merlin cuts himself off and rubs his eyes tiredly. “Because I don’t want to,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says with as much authority as he can manage. He gets up and stands between Merlin and the door. “Why. Not.”

For a moment, Arthur thinks Merlin is going to punch him.

“Because I have feelings for you, you overbearing, arrogant… clotpole!”

Arthur is distracted for one fleeting moment by Merlin’s increasingly incoherent insults, but then the rest of the sentence filters through his drunk ears.

“You— _What?_ ”

“Very eloquent,” Merlin mocks him. “May I please leave now?”

“No, I…” Arthur takes a deep, steadying breath. “We can talk about this like sensible adults.”

“I am nowhere near drunk enough to be philosophical with you, Arthur.”

“Can I at least ask a… clarifying question?”

“Yes, your honour,” Merlin says, glaring at him. “Please humiliate me further.”

“It’s not humiliating to… We can’t control who we—”

“I’m well aware. I would not have chosen you as the object of my affections.”

They look at each other for a long moment, Merlin’s gaze angry and hurt and vulnerable.

“For how long?” Arthur asks. “When did this start?”

“Recently,” Merlin says after a pause long enough to make it abundantly clear he’s lying. “Please let me go.”

“Where are you sleeping?” Arthur asks again.

“Anywhere else,” Merlin says. He steps around Arthur and flings open the door.

“Merlin—” Arthur calls after him pointlessly.

Merlin slams the door when he leaves, and Arthur, who can let every emotion get the better of him when he’s drinking, gets into the shower so he can pretend his face isn’t wet from tears.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Arthur wakes up feeling more sober than he has ever felt before, and it is awful. He wants to swim to Mykines, wedge into a puffin burrow, and die.

It’s the day of his sister’s wedding, though, so he gets out of bed and takes a shower.

The hotel sets out an extravagant buffet for everyone, but Arthur doesn’t see Merlin, or most of the other guests, while he’s eating. He imagines that Merlin is probably still sleeping—he doesn’t have to do anything for the wedding besides show up—or hiding. He hopes Merlin isn’t hiding.

He doesn’t know where Merlin would hide. He doesn’t even know where Merlin slept.

Some of the rest of the guests start trickling down from their rooms as Arthur finishes eating, and then it’s time for him to get dressed.

At 10, he meets Gwen and Morgana in the lobby and they head out to meet the wedding photographer at their first photo shoot location. Morgana and Elena are going all out, with no less than six destinations for their wedding day, including the ceremony and reception.

Morgana looks stunning in her dress. Gwen doesn’t do her make-up until they’re already at the waterfall, but it doesn’t matter. She’s happy and beautiful, and Arthur manages to push his thoughts of the previous night aside to focus on her.

The photographer is a trendy woman with a long-haired rustic assistant who looks like he’d rather be out farming. He winks at Arthur as they set up and Arthur manages to smile, but he’s never felt less enthused to be hit on by a handsome man.

Godwyn’s car pulls up after 20 or so minutes, and Arthur takes Morgana around a large boulder so Gwen can do Elena’s make-up as well.

“Are you all right?” Morgana asks, balancing precariously on a small stone. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur says with a tight smile. “Just still waking up.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t that 400-year-old raw clam you ate last night?”

Arthur smiles, genuinely this time, and shakes his head. “I promise I’m fine. This is your day—stop deflecting.”

Morgana smirks and adjusts her dress. She’s bouncing a little on the rocks, and Arthur can tell she’s full of energy, although it’s also probably the cold wind.

Eventually, Gwen comes around the boulder with the photographer, ready for the first photos. Arthur gives Morgana a hug and she clings to him more tightly than she normally would before stepping away and turning around to see her future wife.

Arthur expects both of them to burst into tears, but instead Morgana and Elena just beam at each other as they pick their way over the rocks to get closer to each other.

“Why are you so far away?” Morgana calls out, laughing and almost tripping in an attempt to run.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder!” Elena responds, very nearly wiping out on a slippery rock.

They reach each other after a minute and share a long embrace that makes Arthur’s heart ache from how blissful they look.

Having gotten the photos of Morgana and Elena seeing each other in their wedding dresses for the first time, the photographer and her assistant start directing them to different spots around the waterfall. Arthur can’t believe either of them are wearing white in an environment like this, but they manage to stay clean, most likely due to Gwen’s meticulous eye.

On the way to the next location, Arthur drives Godwyn’s car with Morgana and Elena in the back seat, and Godwyn rides as a passenger in Gwen’s car.

“How was your morning?” Morgana asks when she and Elena finally stop making out.

“Good,” Elena says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Morgana’s ear. “I missed you.”

“How did you manage not to see each other all morning?” Arthur asks.

“Have you not been paying attention?” Morgana asks. “What do you think that whole photoshoot was about?”

“Seeing each other’s dresses for the first time?”

“We picked our dresses out together,” Elena says. Arthur looks up at the rearview mirror to see her grinning at Morgana.

“That was us seeing each other for the first time today. The day of our wedding,” Morgana explains, sounding extremely annoyed at how slow Arthur is being.

“You didn’t stay in the same room last night?” Arthur asks.

“No, I slept in my dad’s room,” Elena says. “He’s got one of the suites with a sofa, so he slept on that.”

Arthur makes a mental note to ask Gwen why she hadn’t booked a room with a sofa for him and Merlin.

“And I stayed in our room with Merlin,” Morgana says, “who was being a _very_ melancholy drunk. I think it was the clam.”

Elena laughs. “What is it with you and the clams?”

“They were 400 years old! You can’t possibly put something that old in your body without some kind of consequence.”

Elena snorts, which makes Morgana giggle, and then they are back to kissing.

Arthur is glad that they arrive at the next spot within the next two minutes, because he really doesn’t want to think about Merlin drunkenly weeping in Morgana’s bed.

For the second shoot, the photographer takes a lot of photos of Arthur and Morgana together in front of a field of sheep. The location smells and doesn’t seem particularly charming, but Arthur knows Merlin would love it. That thought makes it hard to keep up a smile.

“Come on, Arthur,” the assistant says when he sees Arthur struggling. “Think of something pretty!”

His voice is pretty, his accent smooth and melodic, but that doesn’t really inspire a smile.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” Morgana says. Her voice is light and teasing, but Arthur knows she’s being serious.

He casts around in his memories for something—anything—and finds an image of Merlin standing in his living room wearing a romper and a fuzzy rainbow-coloured cropped jacket.

He’s laughing before he can stop himself, and then Morgana is laughing at him, and the photographer announces that she has what she needs. She takes a few quick photos of Elena and Godwyn in front of the sheep before they all pack into the cars again.

At the third location, the photos focus on Elena and her father, with Arthur and Morgana only asked to step in for 2 or 3 of their own shots at the end.

The fourth location is on top of a cliff. It’s windy and there’s fog below them, making it look like they’d fall into a cloud if they stepped over the edge. Here, the photographer takes what Arthur thinks is an obscene amount of photos. There are some of him and Morgana, some of Elena and Godwyn, some of Morgana and Elena, some of the brides with Gwen, some of Gwen by herself, some of Gwen with Arthur and Godwyn, some with just Arthur and Godwyn, and then a hearty amount of all five of them together.

Arthur’s face hurts from smiling so much by the time they’re finished.

Gwen needs to drive back to the city, so Godwyn drives Arthur, Morgana, and Elena to the wedding location. It’s a low, gravely plain with dramatic cliffs on three sides and the ocean and open sky on the forth.

Lance and Leon are already there, setting up a simple vine-covered arch. Arthur goes to help them, leaving Morgana and Elena to redo their make-up in Godwyn’s car.

More cars with more guests arrive, and sooner than Arthur would like, Gwaine shows up with Merlin and Elyan in tow. Arthur turns away as soon as he sees Merlin, his chest seizing with panic. He checks the sturdiness of the arch for the fourth time, trying to look busy and unconcerned.

The next time he dares to look around, Gwen has arrived with the mayor of Tórshavn, who apparently officiates all local weddings, and the ceremony is ready to begin.

Arthur steps back from the arch and looks around for Godwyn. He catches Merlin’s eye instead, and Merlin actually smiles at him. It’s a small, mirthless smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes, but a smile nonetheless.

Merlin looks fantastic in his suit. It’s tailored to accentuate his long legs and slim waist, and the bowtie is a surprisingly nice touch. He looks put together and calm. He’s also close at Gwaine’s side.

Arthur nods in response to Merlin’s smile and turns away again. He looks around, trying to spot Godwyn, but he can’t actually see anything in front of him. All he sees is Merlin’s sad smile, shining dimly over the shattered ruins of their friendship.

He should have known better than to drink so much wine.

He should have known better than to invite Merlin into his room.

He should have known better than to push so hard when Merlin clearly wanted to maintain a simple boundary.

Godwyn steps up next to Arthur and Arthur turns back to the arch, trying to focus. The mayor takes his place and Gwen goes to retrieve the brides.

There’s no music, there’s no flowers, there’s no large wedding party or extravagant displays or poetic readings. There’s just Morgana and Elena, radiant in their love, joining their lives, promising themselves to each other.

It’s beautiful, and when it’s over, Arthur hugs Morgana and his new sister-in-law closely.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The reception is back in the city, on the second floor of a restaurant with an extensive seafood menu. Arthur switches his braces in Leon’s car during the drive, pulling off the ones he’d used for the outdoor photoshoots and slipping into some more discreet ones that would still support him for dancing.

He eats as many of the side dishes as he can get his hands on during dinner, sick of the constant fish. He’s not actually hungry at all, but he wants to drink and knows better than to do so on an empty stomach.

The food is good and the mood light, and Arthur does his best to blend in as a happy guest. He talks with Godwyn and Leon. He drinks with Lance and Gwen. He cheers at the funny toasts from the brides’ friends. He gives his own toast, briefly recounting how Godwyn and his own father had tried to set _him_ up with Elena years ago, and congratulates the newlyweds with some heartfelt teasing.

Morgana and Elena decide to forgo the traditional first dance, so the floor opens for everyone, and Arthur lets himself be pulled into the small, drunk crowd by Gwen.

He dances with Gwen, then Gwen and Lance, then Morgana and Elena, then just Elena because Morgana wants more champagne, and then the sexy assistant photographer who claims he’s on his break.

The assistant is broad and muscular and so intensely gorgeous. Normally, Arthur would be falling over himself to seduce such a man, but for some reason all he can think about as they’re dancing is that he hopes Merlin is jealous.

After two songs with him, Arthur excuses himself to the bar. He asks for more of the same wine he’d been served at dinner, and when he has the glass in his hand he turns to survey the room.

Gwaine is heading straight for him and he doesn’t have any time to escape.

“Haven’t seen you all day,” he says cheerfully before briefly turning his attention to the bartender to order a drink. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Of course. The size of my family just doubled. I’ve literally never seen Morgana this happy. And this wine is very good.”

Gwaine chuckles as he gets handed his beer. “Cheers,” he says, knocking the bottle against Arthur’s glass. “I saw you dancing with that large photographer.”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?” Arthur asks, annoyed.

“Are you making a move on him, or can I have a go?”

“He’s all yours,” Arthur says before walking away. He steps out on a small balcony for some air and tries to remind himself that he’s there for Morgana and should be having a good time.

“Hey.”

Arthur looks over his shoulder to see Lance coming onto the balcony.

“Hey,” Arthur says, turning his attention back to the view of the city. It’s still light out and he feels weirdly exposed in the sun.

Lance leans his arms on the railing and they stand in silence for a bit.

“So… Merlin,” Lance finally says.

Arthur grips his glass, wondering how much pressure it would take to break it with his bare hands.

“What about him?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t think he’s with Gwaine.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Gwaine’s in there grinding on the photographer’s assistant, and Merlin’s just laughing at him.”

Arthur sighs and drains his wine. “Yeah. I know they’re not together. I was just… being paranoid.”

“Will you be okay for the trip tomorrow?”

Arthur tenses. He’d been so preoccupied with Merlin’s moods and the wedding that he’d completely forgotten about the overnight trip he’d planned for the next day. He, Merlin, Lance, Leon, Gwaine, and Elyan are all taking a helicopter to a remote, southern island for what is supposed to be a relaxing, deeply isolated 24 hours.

At the moment, though, he can’t think of anything less appealing.

He tries to come up with an answer, anything to say to Lance, but the truth is that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if or how he and Merlin will ever be okay again, let alone _when_.

Maybe he should skip the excursion. He could give his ticket to Gwen or Godwyn or anyone else, really. He could give it to the photographer’s assistant and let Gwaine have a good time.

“You could try talking to him,” Lance says when Arthur doesn’t respond.

“Tried that. Did not go well.”

“Try again.”

Arthur sighs and rubs his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He’d tried so hard to be happy all day, and now he just wants to go to bed so he can stop pretending.

“What happened?” Lance asks. His voice is quiet but stern, and Arthur thinks Gwen probably put him up to this.

Arthur looks down at the street below them. “He said he—”

The words stick in Arthur’s throat.

“He had—has… feelings for me.”

Lance says nothing and Arthur looks up at the sky and the low clouds, trying to read the silence.

When it stretches on for too long, he adds, “Seemed like it wasn’t a new thing.”

“And do you have feelings for him?” Lance asks. He’s steady, neutral.

“I think I might,” Arthur manages. He feels his hands start to shake so he sets his glass down on the floor. “But it’s a _very_ new thing. At least… consciously. Fuck.” He sighs and leans all his weight on the railing, digging his hands through his hair. “I don’t know how this happened.”

“Maybe it happened because you’re perfect for each other.”

“Please don’t.”

“Arthur, come on.”

Arthur forces himself to look up, and he sees that Lance is actually smiling.

“You’ve just told me that Merlin has feelings for you, and that you have feelings for Merlin. I fail to see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that I coerced him into telling me last night when we were both drunk, and I didn’t get to say anything back, and now he hates me.”

Lance drops the smile. “Then go fix it. Please. Before we leave tomorrow.”

He gives Arthur a pat on the shoulder and goes back inside.

Arthur looks up at the sky and takes a deep breath.

Maybe Lance is right.

But what if he’s wrong? What if Merlin isn’t willing to act on his feelings?

Or what if he does? What if it turns out that Arthur is wrong about how _he_ feels? What if he breaks Merlin’s heart even more? What if he loses the most important person in his life?

What if he completely fucks up?

Or what if he doesn’t? What if they’re actually happy together?

Arthur goes back to the bar for another drink. He leans against it for a while, sipping his wine and watching the dance floor. Morgana hasn’t stopped smiling in hours and she can’t keep her hands off her new wife. They are dancing and twirling and generally acting as if they’re in their own little world. Elena’s hair has fallen out of its up-do and she keeps stepping out of one of her shoes, and Morgana looks like she can’t believe her luck in finding such a fool to love.

Arthur’s stomach is churning, but he’s pretty sure it’s not because of all the wine.

After a string of upbeat songs, Morgana’s carefully curated playlist shifts to a slow one, and Arthur heads across the room before he has a plan fully formed.

Merlin is sitting at a table with Leon, taking a break from the dancing. Arthur comes to a stop in front of Merlin’s chair and holds out his hand.

“Come dance?”

Merlin looks up at him with a blank expression.

“Please?”

Merlin gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing below his collar. Arthur reaches down, grabs hold of Merlin’s arm, and tugs him out of his chair and onto the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks quietly when Arthur wraps an around his back.

“Dancing with you.” When Merlin doesn’t move, Arthur guides one of his arms around his own back, forcing them closer together. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

Merlin huffs but lets Arthur take his hand and start leading.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Arthur says after a few moments. “I was being insensitive.”

Merlin shrugs, keeping his gaze firmly over Arthur’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Probably could have if I’d been paying any attention.”

Merlin flushes and Arthur pulls him closer. He takes a deep breath, his chest stuttering a little against Arthur’s.

“Can we… Can you just pretend that last night didn’t happen? I didn’t want it to happen. I don’t want this to change just because I… let my feelings get a little carried away.”

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Merlin starts to pull back, but Arthur holds on, determined not to let Merlin run away this time.

“Please,” Merlin whispers. “I just want to forget this.”

“I don’t,” Arthur says. Then, “I want… this.”

Merlin tenses, his grip tightening on Arthur’s arm. “What?”

“This. Us. You.”

“Yes, you have a very large vocabulary,” Merlin says, starting to pull away again.

Arthur tugs him back. He presses their cheeks together, feeling how warm Merlin’s skin is. “I’m serious. I know I’m probably not going about this the right way, but I don’t know what the right way would be.”

Merlin shakes his head but doesn’t pull away, so they continue dancing.

“For how long?” Merlin asks. “When did this start?”

“Mykines.”

Merlin leans back a little to look at him, annoyed. “What, two days ago?”

The song changes abruptly, and everyone around them cheers and bursts into frantic, energetic dancing.

Arthur tilts his head toward the hall and Merlin shrugs, looking resigned. Trying to give him a reassuring smile, Arthur leads Merlin out of the room and into the hall where the bathrooms and staircase are.

“What happened on Mykines?” Merlin asks, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the walls.

“I can’t explain it. I just… I realised that I want… you. In my life.”

“I’m in your life,” Merlin says incredulously.

Arthur bites down a smile at how stubborn Merlin can be. “Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

Arthur takes a step closer, but Merlin crosses his arms tighter, his shoulders rising up, and Arthur sighs and leans against the opposite wall.

“When we were hiking to Skarð, you spent the whole time with Gwaine, and I just… got _so_ irrationally jealous,” Arthur admits. “I started thinking about how well-matched Morgana and Elena are, and I know everyone likes to joke about how similar Morgana and I are, and you know I fucking hate that, but… maybe sometimes it’s a little true.”

Merlin smirks and Arthur glares at him.

“True in that she’s more serious. And she found the goofiest possible woman to fall in love with and—I mean, I’m not—I’m just saying that you’re… also goofy.”

Arthur looks down at the floor and takes a deep breath, damning himself for being so ineloquent in such a crucial moment.

“That’s offensive.”

Arthur looks up to see Merlin smiling at him.

“I’m a noble beast and you know it.”

Arthur claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention out to the hall where they’re hiding.

Merlin uncrosses his arms and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up untidily.

“Are you… Are you sure about this?” he asks, barely meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“No,” Arthur says honestly. “I’m terrified I’m going to completely cock this up, but I think if… if we _can_ make this work, then… I can’t imagine anything that would make me happier. So I guess it’s just a matter of whether it would make _you_ happy.”

A slow smile spreads across Merlin’s lips, his eyes crinkling happily.

“You know it would,” he says softly before pushing himself off the wall and crossing the short distance between them. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he mutters, resting his hands on Arthur’s waist. “You can still take it back.”

“Never.”

Merlin grins and Arthur moves in for a kiss.

They’re both smiling too wide to do it properly, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. Merlin slides his hands around to Arthur’s back, and Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s neck to pull Merlin closer, and they slot together as they sink against the wall.

The kiss continues, deepening, with Arthur trying to keep things slow and exploratory. Merlin is so warm, and his lips are so soft, and the sounds he’s making are giving Arthur goosebumps.

Merlin is also decidedly not trying to keep things slow or exploratory. It doesn’t take him long to untuck Arthur’s shirt and slip a cool hand underneath to hold onto Arthur’s bare skin. He gets his other hand in Arthur’s hair, and his tongue in Arthur’s mouth, and a thigh wedged between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur gasps when Merlin bites down on his lower lip, and he tugs on Merlin’s lapels, needing Merlin as close as possible.

Merlin devours him, and Arthur feels weak and hot and stunned that this is actually happening.

“Merlin,” he says on an exhale when Merlin ducks down to kiss his neck.

Merlin groans, shifting a little, and Arthur feels Merlin’s cock stirring against his own.

“Merlin,” he says again, not drunk enough to let this go further. “We need—We should stop.”

Merlin tugs on Arthur’s ear with his teeth and Arthur pulls him back in for a wet, desperate kiss.

“We should stop,” he says again, his words barely intelligible against Merlin’s lips. “There’s a…”

“A wedding?” Merlin asks, grinning.

“Yeah. That.”

Merlin hums and gives Arthur another kiss before standing back. He looks disheveled and Arthur wants nothing more than to push him against the other wall and carry on. Merlin smirks and Arthur knows he’s thinking the same thing.

“You look ridiculous,” Arthur says, stepping forward to fix Merlin’s hair.

“I blame you completely.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Arthur adjusts Merlin’s bowtie and then starts tucking his shirt back in. “We should, um…” He looks down to check that his shirt isn’t too wrinkled, but his eyes catch on the bulge in Merlin’s trousers and the rest of the sentence dies on his tongue.

“Hey.” Merlin cups Arthur’s face and leans in for a warm, soft kiss. “What are you thinking?”

Despite what they had just been heading toward, Arthur thinks it might be too early to admit he was thinking of getting Merlin naked as soon as possible, so he doesn’t answer.

Merlin chuckles and brushes his thumb across Arthur’s lips. “Yeah. Me too.”

Arthur takes a deliberate step away and finishes tucking in his shirt to stop himself from dragging Merlin into the loo to pick up where they left off.

“What do we do now?” Merlin asks quietly, reaching out to smooth down Arthur’s hair.

“Drink, probably.”

Merlin chuckles. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, or maybe do something else, but then Lance comes out into the hall.

“Dessert’s ready,” he says after a moment, gamely acting like he has no idea what’s been going on. He walks between them and goes into the men’s room.

Merlin gives Arthur an embarrassed smile. “Shall we?”

Arthur nods and follows him back into the reception. They help themselves to fruitcake and more wine and then seat themselves at the table where Leon is still sitting.

“Holding down the fort?” Merlin teases.

“Someone has to,” Leon says gravely.

Arthur stays parked at the table for most of the rest of the night, drinking more and more until Gwen finally pulls him back onto the dance floor. Merlin has been dancing for a while, and Arthur has been watching, slowly getting used to the idea that he _can_ watch. And fantasise.

He makes sure to give Merlin a wide berth while dancing, though. As much as he wants to grind against Merlin to loud music, he knows it would be an incredibly bad idea. This thing between them is too new, and it’s Morgana’s night, and he’s too drunk not to go overboard with it.

So he dances with Gwen, and Morgana, and Elena, and even Gwaine until it’s 4am and the restaurant finally closes.

Out on the street, other bars and clubs are closing, and there’s a fair number of locals standing around and chatting or milling about and trying to find where to go next. Lance, Gwen, and a few other guests get swept up by a loud and friendly group of strangers, and they head in the direction of the beach.

Gwaine finds the photographer’s assistant coming out of a bar on their way back to the hotel and invites him up, leaving Leon to find somewhere else to sleep.

He immediately asks if he can crash on Arthur’s bed.

“I’ll bring my own blankets and everything,” he says. “Please don’t make me sleep in a room where Gwaine is actively fucking.”

“Can’t,” Arthur says, keeping an eye up ahead where Merlin is walking with Elyan. “Merlin’s sleeping with me. In the bed, I mean. In our room.”

“No, he’s not. Merlin!” Leon shouts and waves Merlin over. “Where are you sleeping?”

Merlin looks between Leon and Arthur, frowning. “Why?”

“Gwaine’s fucking and I need a bed but Arthur won’t let me stay in his even though you haven’t slept there all week.”

Merlin grimaces. “Well, I’m sleeping there tonight. Sorry.”

Leon huffs. “Can I sleep on your floor, then? Please?”

Arthur is about to turn him down when Merlin says, “‘Course. Are you really that desperate?”

“Have you seen the guy Gwaine is bringing back to our room?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“They’ll be fucking ’til dawn!”

“So, for the next 15 minutes?” Merlin asks, grinning cheekily.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t. But you’re welcome to crash on the floor if you really want. Better grab your pillow soon, though,” Merlin suggests, pointing to where Gwaine and the assistant photographer are leaning against the outside of the hotel up ahead, thoroughly exploring each other’s tonsils.

Leon groans and jogs to catch up with Elyan, who has just reached the hotel’s entrance.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, tugging on Merlin’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to fuck you tonight.”

Arthur flushes. “I know. I wasn’t expecting you to. I just thought…”

“Arthur, I’m so tired and drunk I’m not even sure I’m going to bother undressing before I pass out on that bed. It was never going to be romantic.”

Arthur chuckles, conceding the point. “All right. You’re mine on the last night, though. I don’t care who Gwaine is fucking.”

Merlin gives Arthur’s hand a quick squeeze before he bends over and picks up a rock to chuck at the amorous couple. He hits Gwaine square on the bum.

“Get a room!” he calls out as he runs into the hotel.

“You’ll pay for that, Pendragon,” Gwaine threatens, looking around and seeing only Arthur.

“It was Merlin,” Arthur says, waving goodnight and heading in.

The lobby is empty, so Arthur goes up to his room where Merlin is already waiting.

Merlin backs him up against the door and kisses him sloppily. Arthur hums against Merlin’s lips, wraps his arms around Merlin’s back, and tries not to get too dizzy.

“Want you,” Merlin mumbles, pushing Arthur’s suit jacket to the floor.

“Thought you said we weren’t doing this,” Arthur says as he starts undoing Merlin’s belt.

“Just helping you get ready for bed.” Merlin moves in for another kiss and fumbles to unbutton Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur groans when Merlin’s fingertips tease the waistband of his pants. He pushes his hips closer, wanting so much more of Merlin.

There’s a knock at the door and Arthur jolts, having completely forgotten about Leon.

“Hold on,” Merlin calls out casually. He gives Arthur one last, very wet kiss before walking over to the window.

Arthur’s only saving grace is that it turns out he’s too tired and wasted to get hard, so he opens the door for Leon without concern.

“Here good?” Leon asks, dumping his pillow, sheets, and blanket onto the floor at the foot of Arthur’s bed.

“Wherever you want, mate.”

Arthur watches, amused, as Leon strips down to his pants, wiggles in between his sheet and blanket, and promptly falls asleep.

“That was fast,” Merlin comments.

“He’s got the right idea, though,” Arthur says, suddenly realising that every muscle in his body aches from how long he had spent dancing.

He makes a quick trip to the bathroom, relieving himself but not bothering to clean his teeth, and when he comes back out, Merlin is already under the covers. Arthur shrugs out of his shirt and pushes his trousers to the floor, realising too late that he’s still wearing his shoes and braces.

“Bugger,” he mutters, shuffling awkwardly across the room with his trousers around his ankles.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Merlin says, his voice low and his words slurring.

Arthur sits on the floor to take off the rest of his clothes. When he’s finally managed to secure his night splints on, he’s so exhausted that he honestly considers just curling up where he is and letting himself pass out.

“C’m’ere,” Merlin says from the bed, limply flopping his arm in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur gets up with a groan, takes the few short steps to reach the bed, and then collapses next to Merlin.

“Blanket?” Merlin asks, his voice muffled by a pillow.

“Nah.” Arthur rolls onto his side and curls an arm around Merlin’s back. “Night.”

Merlin mumbles something in response, and Arthur falls asleep before he can try to decipher it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Arthur wakes up to Merlin’s finger rubbing the length of his nose, and it’s extremely disorientating until he opens his eyes and figures out what’s happening.

“Morning.” Merlin’s voice is low and rumbly, and Arthur suddenly wants—needs—to wake up to that every morning for the rest of his life.

“Good morning.” Arthur rolls onto his back to stretch and groan as he comes into full consciousness. He doesn’t know how much sleep he got, but whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. “Time is it?”

“10.”

Arthur sighs and gets under the covers before turning onto his side to face Merlin. Merlin has bags under his eyes, and his hair has given up all pretence and turned into a bird’s nest, and his lips are cracked and dry. He looks about as good as Arthur feels, and yet all Arthur wants to do is kiss him.

“So, um… last night was… a thing that happened,” Merlin says, looking somewhere past Arthur’s ear.

“Yeah. Who knew lesbians could throw such a good party?”

Merlin smiles, closing his eyes as if he’s embarrassed by his own amusement, and Arthur shuffles closer to kiss him.

Merlin inhales sharply through his nose, keeping his eyes closed as Arthur pulls back a little to look at him.

“Merlin.”

“Yeah.” Merlin is still and quiet, as if he’s worried any sudden movements will scare Arthur off.

Arthur reaches out under the sheets and finds Merlin’s hip to wrap his hand around. Merlin isn’t wearing a shirt and Arthur’s pinky finger lands on the waistband of whatever pants he has on.

“You’re not dreaming, you know.”

Merlin smiles again, licking his lips as he finally opens his eyes. “I know.”

Arthur slides his hand into Merlin’s hair and moves in for another kiss. He can smell them both—the sweat from the dancing and the stale alcohol and the stink of exhaustion—and he can only imagine how his mouth tastes right now, but he needs this. He needs to ground himself, to reassure himself that last night really happened, to convince himself that he hasn’t made a mistake.

Merlin grips Arthur’s shoulder at first, then slides his hand down Arthur’s back until it comes to rest on Arthur’s arse. He gives it a squeeze before moving his hand even lower to grip the back of Arthur’s thigh, pulling Arthur closer.

Arthur groans and shifts up, getting a leg over Merlin and straddling him. It’s too warm under the blankets, but he likes the intimacy of it, likes how it draws out the moment until they hear a cough.

Merlin’s eyes go wide and Arthur freezes. He’d completely forgotten about Leon.

There’s a shuffling noise as Leon rolls around under his sheets, and before Arthur can move away from Merlin, Leon belches and then starts snoring.

Arthur drops his head, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Guess we should get up,” Merlin says, trailing his fingertips over Arthur’s sides and making Arthur shiver.

“I guess.” Arthur looks down at Merlin, at the man who has attempted to make friends with every single sheep in the country, and feels an ache in his stomach that draws him back in for another kiss. “I’m excited to go on this trip with you,” he whispers.

“Yeah.” Merlin grins and stretches obscenely, pressing his hips up into Arthur’s. “Me too.”

Arthur allows himself one more kiss before he flings off the covers and gets out of bed. He heads to the loo to clean his teeth and take a shower, and when he steps back out into his room with a towel on, Leon is gone.

Merlin is sitting at the head of the bed, leafing through Arthur’s book. His fingers continue turning pages even as he looks up at Arthur and grins at the sight.

“If we didn’t have plans today, I’d yank that towel right off and have my dirty way with you right here.”

It’s not a particularly good line, but that seems pretty typical of Merlin, and Arthur finds himself both endeared and turned on by it.

Merlin gets off the bed and heads into the bathroom, walking past Arthur with a coy smile but no kiss. Arthur can’t have that, so he grabs Merlin’s hand and tugs him back.

“Arthur,” Merlin chuckles, burying his face in Arthur’s neck. “We need to stop this or we’re going to miss the flight.”

Arthur hums in agreement but still gives Merlin a long, somewhat sloppy kiss before letting him get in the shower.

Merlin’s still in the bathroom by the time Arthur gets dressed and finishes packing. Arthur wants to stay and see Merlin dripping wet and wearing just a towel, but he knows Merlin is right. He can’t let himself go down that path, so he takes his bag down to the lobby.

Leon is already there, slumped in a chair and looking like he would rather be dead.

“How did you sleep?” Arthur asks.

Leon just grunts, so Arthur heads to the hotel’s tiny breakfast nook to get coffee and pastries for Leon and himself.

Leon has marginally more colour in his face by the time Gwaine comes down.

“Where’s what’s-his-face?” Leon asks, waving a soft-boiled egg in Gwaine’s direction.

“Taking a shower. And no, I can’t pronounce his name, so please don’t ask what it is. Is the coffee hot?” Gwaine goes to pour himself a cup without waiting for an answer.

Merlin is the next to make an appearance, and Arthur can’t quite figure out how to act normal, so he gets an extra cup of coffee and goes up to Lance and Gwen’s room.

Lance opens the door shirtless and takes the coffee out of Arthur’s hand without any words. Arthur chuckles and steps in, seeing Lance’s half-packed bag on the edge of the bed where Gwen is still asleep.

“Need any help?” Arthur asks.

“I need more socks,” Lance moans, sinking against the dresser. “Like five pairs. I have awful feet.”

Arthur laughs and digs around in the cases on the floor until he finds some socks to add to Lance’s bag. He also packs Lance some long-sleeved shirts, extra pants, and two hats.

“You’re the best,” Lance says, sounding more awake.

“You’re going to have to dress yourself.” Arthur sits down next to Lance’s bag, careful not to jostle the bed too much.

“I guess that’s fair.” Lance drains his coffee and then starts digging through his cases. “What happened with Merlin?” he asks casually, pulling on a shirt.

Arthur feels himself going red and he looks down, trying to think of anything to say.

Lance is tactful enough to turn away as he shrugs on his jacket. “Well, I’m glad you worked it out.”

“Yeah. Thanks for talking some sense into me.” Arthur stands up as Lance slings his rucksack over his shoulder.

Lance nudges Arthur’s ribs with his elbow. “Thanks for fixing it before we’re stuck on a remote island together for 24 hours.”

Arthur grins and leads the way downstairs. Elyan has joined the group as well, so they all pile into Leon’s car with Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, and Lance all wedged together in the back seat.

It’s a short trip, only 10 minutes to a field tucked away on the eastern coast of the city. The heliport staff loads their bags into the back of the helicopter and helps them settle into their seats. It turns out their stop is the second one for the helicopter, which will first stop for one man on the island of Skúvoy and then continue on with two more passengers to Suðuroy after dropping off Arthur’s crew.

They are heading to the island of Stóra Dímun, which is inhabited by just two small families. There’s a cottage for rent on the island, and Arthur has booked it for him and friends for the night.

The helicopter is roomier than Arthur thought it would be. And louder, although the headphones they are all given helps. It takes about 15 minutes to get to the first stop, and the views over the islands are more than worth getting up after only five hours of sleep. The ocean seems endless and the cliffs and mountains look so grand, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything like this before.

Arthur is sitting in the back row with Merlin and the man going to Skúvoy, and Merlin spends the entire ride leaning over him to look out the window. He doesn’t mind at all, and once they’re alone after the first stop, he risks giving Merlin a kiss as they take off again.

It’s barely five minutes to fly to Stóra Dímun from Skúvoy, so less than 30 minutes after leaving the well-populated capital city, they are climbing off the helicopter and onto an island so isolated that only seven people call it their home.

There’s one small settlement on the island where the two families live, and one of the farmers greets them as they disembark from the helicopter. He helps unload their bags, loads some supplies of his own, and then the helicopter is gone.

Arthur takes a long look around the island, at little stunned at how quiet it is once the helicopter is out of earshot. For a long moment, all Arthur can hear is the rushing of the wind and the muted sound of waves splashing against the rocks far below them.

Then the wind dies down, and Arthur can hear birds screeching and sheep bleating and dogs barking.

The farmer speaks English with a charming, soft accent, and he tells them a short history of the island and his family as he leads them to the cottage that he built for guests.

They dump their bags just inside the door of the cottage, eager to get exploring. They spend another hour or so with the farmer, getting a proper tour of the farm and his family’s settlement. He introduces them to the family’s dogs and a cow and several chickens and sheep.

Arthur gives Merlin space on most of the tour, not wanting to draw attention to their budding romance. He walks mostly with Leon and Elyan, leaving Merlin to be with Gwaine. It’s amazing how much he doesn’t mind it now that he knows there’s no reason to be jealous. He likes it, even. He likes having a secret, something that makes him happy, something that is private and personal and just for Merlin to share in.

He does join Merlin in getting up close to the sheep, though. They don’t smell good, but they’re friendly and, Arthur sort of hates to admit it, a little adorable. He can’t stop smiling as more and more of them wander over to sniff at his hand, although he suspects that has as much to do with Merlin as it does the sheep themselves.

Merlin is absolutely beside himself. None of the sheep stay near him for very long once they find out he doesn’t have food for them, but there are so many of them that it doesn’t matter he can’t make individual friends.

“Why do you like sheep so much?” Arthur asks. He realises that he had just taken it as one of Merlin’s quirks, but he wants to know more.

“They're so dumb and soft,” Merlin says fondly, stroking the side of a particularly round one. “A bit like you, really.”

Arthur laughs and knocks his hip into Merlin’s, and Merlin gives him radiant smile.

After the tour, Merlin runs back to the cottage to get his art supplies, and then they all head off toward a small lighthouse on the southern edge of the island. It’s a simple walk since this part of the island is flat and on top of some very high cliffs, and the lighthouse had been visible from the farm so it doesn’t even take very long to get there.

The lighthouse is small—Arthur thinks he could probably climb to the top if Leon gave him a leg up—and not very interesting to most of the group. Lance and Elyan turn back after a few minutes, and Gwaine and Leon head off on a detour to get a closer look at some puffins that have chosen Stóra Dímun over Mykines for their nesting.

Merlin stays to capture the lighthouse. He sits in front of it and gets out his watercolour set.

Arthur joins him, at first just for the excuse to be near, but then Arthur gets drawn in by his painting. He manages to get the exact shade of the ocean by mixing his blues and greens on the palette, and he perfectly captures the sweeping, imposing cliffs to the west.

The lighthouse itself Merlin paints delicately, lovingly, and it’s a lot more charming through his interpretation than it is in real life.

As the painting dries, Merlin does a few rough sketches. The first one is of the lighthouse, the second one is of some the sheep, and the third one is of Arthur with a towel around his waist.

“What a beautiful landscape,” Arthur comments. “Very dramatic views. I feel like I’m right there, experiencing it all.”

Merlin grins and gives Arthur a soft kiss before going back to work, this time sketching one of the more striking views they’d had from their helicopter ride. Arthur watches in silence, basking in how easy and simple it is to be sitting in such a wonderful place with Merlin at his side.

When the watercolour painting is dry and Merlin is satisfied with his drawings, they go back to the cottage to drop off Merlin’s supplies. They take the opportunity to put their bags in the only room that has just one bed instead of two, and to snog in the kitchen, and then they head out to find the rest of the group.

They spend the rest of their afternoon hiking around the lower, more accessible parts of the island and getting drenched by the fog that is preventing them from hiking up any of the larger hills.

Arthur feels like he’s exploring a new world. There’s no sign of human activity nearly anywhere, except for the occasional sheep with a tag in its ear. He can’t imagine making his home somewhere so remote, only having physical contact with the outside world at maximum of three times a week, and limited to when the weather is good enough for the helicopter to fly over and land on the island.

It seems dangerous and romantic and thrilling and desperately dull.

Arthur thinks he might quite like to live some place like this, at least for a short while. He and Merlin would have mastery over the land, Merlin could make friends with all the hundreds of sheep they would own, and nothing—save for bad weather and bird shit—could touch them.

But then he would definitely need to go back to civilisation. He needs the hustle and bustle of the city, the sound of cars to sing him to sleep at night, the constant risk of stepping into a puddle of human urine, the stench of humanity. It’s awful, but it’s home.

The island makes for a nice holiday, though. Everyone is relaxed and happy, and no one is trying too hard to make sure they make the most out of their last big Faroe Islands excursion. They’re just enjoying being with each other—and the sheep—and exploring the land.

At least, that’s how Arthur is feeling, and he’s optimistic enough to think that everyone else is on the same page. Merlin is glowing, probably mostly because of all the sheep, Lance keeps laughing over Elyan’s childhood stories of Gwen, Gwaine is being Gwaine, and even Leon seems to have gotten over his hangover.

It’s the perfect ending to the wedding celebrations.

When they get back to the settlement, the farmer invites them to have dinner with him and his family. They get served more wind-dried mutton that’s somehow both better and worse than the gourmet version they’d been served at KOKS. It’s such a strange, disarming taste, and Arthur thinks he won’t miss it.

After dinner, some of the fog has cleared, so the farmer agrees to take them up one of the cliffs to a plateau where there’s a flock of sheep. They are followed by two sheepdogs, and at first it’s a nice hike with the farmer pointing out various sections of the island and describing which animals can be found—and hunted for eating—in each spot. Then the hike turns into a climb as the terrain gets steeper and steeper. They have to use their hands and Arthur’s trekking poles to get up a wall of rocks and pull themselves up over the edge of the cliff to reach the plateau.

It’s still too foggy to see very far, but Arthur’s seen so many staggering views over the week that he doesn’t mind it. It’s strange to stand on top of an island and not be able to see anything other than his friends, the farmer, the dogs, and a few timid sheep. It feels like they’re in a cloud, floating above the world, separate from every place they’ve ever known.

Merlin plants himself at Arthur’s side and leans his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Let’s move here and become sheep pirates,” Merlin says.

“Sheep pirates, huh?”

“Yeah. It looks like we’re on a sky pirate ship, like in _Stardust_. Or like something in a Miyazaki film.”

Arthur hums in agreement. “So, are we stealing sheep in this scenario? Or are the sheep our mascots, like instead of shoulder parrots?”

“Both. We steal them and make them our mascots. And we sell their wool and become yarn magnates.”

“You’ve dreamt up a beautiful little life for us,” Arthur says, dropping his arm and taking Merlin’s hand, not caring who might see.

“It’s not for us. It’s for the sheep.”

Arthur chuckles and gives Merlin’s hand a squeeze.

Lance clears his throat behind them and Arthur lets go of Merlin slowly and waits a few seconds before turning around to avoid drawing more attention to them. Luckily, Lance seems to have been the only one who noticed them. He winks and Arthur gives him a smile as he heads over to where Leon is sat on the ground with a sheepdog in his lap.

The fog gets thicker after a few minutes and the farmer ushers them all back down the cliff, which takes so long that the sun has set when they finally return to the cottage.

“All right,” Gwaine says, grabbing his bag off the pile just inside the cottage door. “What’s the room situation?”

“I grabbed a room earlier,” Merlin says quickly.

“How many beds?”

“Just the one.”

Gwaine leads everyone down a hall to inspect the remaining options. Leon calls dibs on one of the single beds in the first room, Lance and Elyan opt for the two beds in the loft above the kitchen, and Gwaine decides to kip on the sofa in the living room, which turns out to be a sleeper.

No one seems to notice that Arthur’s bag is with Merlin’s instead of on the second bed in Leon’s room.

They all argue over the shower for a while, until Lance volunteers to shower in the morning, and Elyan and Gwaine follow suit. That leaves Merlin to shower first, then Leon, and then Arthur.

Arthur gets nervous as he washes himself.

Things with Merlin have been easy and sweet all day. It’s been so good, but they haven’t really talked about what they’re doing—not sober, at least—and he’s not sure what the next step should be. He doesn’t know if they’re going too fast or too slow, or if they’re even going at all. He’s never fallen for a friend before, and he has no idea what to do to make sure he doesn’t mess things up.

It’s been a long time since he’s cared this much. And he’s never cared this much this early into any of his previous relationships. If what he and Merlin are doing can be called a relationship. All they’ve done is admit their feelings and kiss.

The water gets cold—it was only lukewarm to begin with—so Arthur gets out of the shower and takes as much time as he can to dry himself off. When he doesn’t have any more excuses to stay in the bathroom, he heads down to the hall to his and Merlin’s room. His feet slap against the floor since he doesn’t have his braces on, and he wonders how soundproof the cottage is. Maybe he and Merlin should wait until they get back to London. Or at least back to the hotel in Tórshavn.

When Arthur reaches the room, he finds Merlin already sprawled out on the bed.

He’s wearing the romper. And the fuzzy cropped jacket.

Arthur bursts out laughing, holding onto the door frame for support.

“So rude,” Merlin says flatly. “I try to make myself look nice for you, and this is your reaction?”

Arthur steps in and closes the door. “Why did you even bring that? When were you planning to wear it?”

“I was thinking about wearing it on the flight home.”

Arthur laughs again and sits on the edge of the bed to put on socks and his night splints. He thinks about putting on a shirt to sleep in because there’s a nice draft coming in through the window, but then Merlin is sitting up behind him, wrapping long, warm arms around his bare chest.

The jacket is soft and fuzzy on his back, and Arthur leans into it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Are you tired?” Merlin asks, his mouth against the shell of Arthur’s ear.

The truth is that he’s exhausted from staying up so late the night before, and not getting enough sleep, and hiking around the island all afternoon and evening.

“No. I mean, yes. But…” Arthur pulls out of Merlin’s embrace enough to turn and kiss him. “We should talk about this,” he says, rubbing his hand over Merlin’s mostly exposed thigh.

“Okay,” Merlin says after a moment.

They sit in silence for a while, Arthur wracking his brains to find the right thing to say.

“So, uh…” Merlin finally starts. “I’ve been, um… I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time.”

“How long?”

Merlin just shrugs in response. Arthur shifts around on the bed until he’s sitting with his legs crossed, facing Merlin. It’s not particularly comfortable with the braces digging into his legs, and the towel doesn’t seem too concerned with keeping his lap covered, but he ignores all of that.

“How long? I’m not going to be upset with your answer. I just want to know. If you’re five years into this and I’m five days into it, then… well, that’s something worth knowing.”

Merlin licks his lips and looks toward the window. “Not five years,” he says quietly. “Maybe… Maybe two?”

Arthur’s chest tightens at the thought of Merlin struggling to keep this a secret for that long.

“When your dad died, and… It was so hard for you, and all I could think about was what I could do to make it better, how I could help, how I could support you, how I could make you laugh or let your cry or, or whatever you needed. It was…” Merlin looks down at his hands. “I tried to write it off as maybe, like, being over sympathetic because of _my_ dad, but…”

Arthur leans forward a bit and takes one of Merlin’s hands in his. “You were the only person who actually managed to make me feel any better when he died.”

Merlin keeps his head down but Arthur can see his eyes crinkling around a smile.

“I was glad to help.”

Arthur turns Merlin’s hand over and traces the lines of his palm with a fingertip. He’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t have a big dramatic realisation to share. He hasn’t sacrificed anything. All he’s done is been jealous of Gwaine.

“Then I watched Morgana and Elena falling in love,” Merlin continues, saving Arthur from having to speak. “I’d always sort of thought of them as a parallel to us. It was… it was _really_ hard to see them so fucking happy when I could barely keep a guy for more than two months and when I thought I couldn’t ever get the guy I really wanted.”

Arthur frowns and covers Merlin’s palm with his other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I wish you’d told me sooner so you wouldn’t have had to suffer in silence.”

“What would you have done?” Merlin asks, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Arthur admits.

Merlin looks up, looks Arthur full in the face, and Arthur’s heart stutters at the intensity of his gaze.

 _No,_ Arthur thinks. This feels so unfair. Merlin’s so much farther along in this than he is, and he’s still too scared to even fully examine how deep his feelings might go, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for breaking Merlin’s heart.

Merlin smiles and the tension in his chest eases a little.

“You would have rejected me,” Merlin says calmly. “In a very bumbling and polite and charming way. And I would have picked myself back up and carried on.”

Arthur knows he’s probably right.

“I got there eventually,” he says, cringing as he hears the words leave his mouth. “Not that that’s much of a consolation prize.”

Merlin frowns and slides his hand out from between Arthur’s. He leans forward, gripping Arthur’s thighs through the thick towel.

“I haven’t been suffering, Arthur,” he says sharply. “At least not in the way you’d think. Loving you is surprisingly annoying. Or not so surprisingly, I guess.”

Arthur grins, relieved that the dynamic between them hasn’t changed at all. “Thanks. Although I don’t know how you could possible call _me_ annoying when you’re wearing that monstrosity.”

“I’m going to win Miss America with this outfit,” Merlin says, his expression gravely serious.

Arthur laughs and Merlin joins him, and Arthur can’t believe how much he wants to kiss Merlin—do _everything_ to Merlin—just for saying something so absurd. A week ago, he would have just smiled fondly, or come up with a biting retort, and that would have been that.

Except it wouldn’t have been, not really. Arthur’s laughter hiccups to a stop as he realises that this isn’t all that new. It’s always been there, somewhere beneath the surface, waiting for Arthur to open his damn eyes and notice how utterly brilliant the man in front of him is.

Merlin quiets down as well, giving Arthur a dorky smile until it softens and he lowers his gaze to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur struggles to inhale properly as heat rolls down his spine, making him shiver.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Merlin asks.

“No.” Arthur licks his lips and swallows hard. “But we can if you want. We probably should. We should wait.”

Merlin’s lips quirk to the side. “Very honourable of you.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, sensing the challenge in Merlin’s voice. “I suppose the topic cold be open for discussion.”

“We should make a pro and con list,” Merlin suggests.

Arthur nods. “The first con is that it would be really debasing for me to sleep with someone who thinks that is appropriate bedroom attire.”

“True, we must consider your reputation. On the other hand, I do give fantastic head.”

Arthur’s mouth goes dry and he licks his lips again. “Maybe so, but your arse is definitely sub-par. I mean, think of Gwaine out there on the sofa. Now, _that_ is an arse worth fucking.”

“Yes, but Gwaine isn’t going to make you come so hard you’ll forget the entire English language.”

“That sounds like a con,” Arthur manages. “I’d be stuck with Faroese and all I know is how to ask for the toilet and say ‘Goodnight’.”

“That’s all you need, really. And me, obviously. You definitely need me to live—I’m a basic necessity. So if we did this, your needs would all be fulfilled, and that’s obviously a pro.”

“All right, but so far the cons are still outweighing the pros.”

Merlin smirks and leans forward for a hard kiss, one of his hands sliding up Arthur’s thigh under the towel.

“That’s a pro, right?”

“Yeah,” Arthur breathes. “You have seriously got to take off that jacket, though.”

Merlin shucks out of the jacket and presses Arthur down on the bed with a bruising kiss.

Arthur moans, impatient, and pulls Merlin on top of him. Merlin is solid and warm, and Arthur needs to get rid of that stupid jumpsuit before he loses his mind.

“How do you get this thing off?” He asks, tugging at the elastic waist.

“Zipper,” Merlin says, dragging his lips over Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur huffs as Merlin starts sucking on his neck. He scrambles his hands over Merlin’s back, tugging the zipper down as far as it will go. The romper is still firmly covering Merlin’s chest and thighs, but now Arthur has access to his arse. He slides his hands under the elastic waistband and finds that Merlin isn’t wearing pants.

“Fuck,” Arthur groans, arching a little off the bed when Merlin bites his neck. “Come on. Get naked. I want to see you.”

“You’ve definitely seen me,” Merlin says before shifting up to flick his tongue into Arthur’s ear.

Arthur tightens his grip on Merlin’s arse, pulling their hips together. “Drunken fashion shows for invisible clothes don’t count.”

Merlin laughs, pressing his face into Arthur’s chest. “I suppose not.”

When he still doesn’t make a move to get out of the romper, Arthur rubs a hand over his back. He seems nervous, like he doesn’t want to take the next step.

“We can stop,” Arthur whispers. “Pick this up some other time.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and sits up, resting on the towel still covering Arthur’s thighs.

“I’m good to keep going,” he says quietly, trailing his fingers over Arthur’s chest hair. “If you are?”

“Yeah.”

Merlin bites his lip and gets gingerly off the bed to step out of his romper.

Arthur can’t fathom for one second what he’s so self conscious about. He’s gorgeous.

Merlin leans over the bed to pull the towel away. Arthur props himself up on his elbows, letting Merlin take a long look at him.

“Well?” he asks when the moment drags on for too long. “Do I pass inspection or what?”

Merlin smiles and crawls back on top of Arthur. They’re both naked now—except for their socks and Arthur’s braces—and their cocks press against each other as they kiss. Arthur rolls his hips, eager for more friction.

“What do you want to do?” Merlin asks, grabbing Arthur’s thigh and thrusting against him with more leverage.

“Anything,” Arthur says, brushing a thumb over Merlin’s nipple.

Merlin kisses him, hot and heavy and far too quick, and then begins moving down his body. Heat blooms over every inch of Arthur’s skin that Merlin touches, and his stomach trembles with the knowledge of what Merlin is about to do. He closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying not to get carried away by the fact that this is _Merlin_.

It would be a lie to say he’s never thought about how Merlin has sex. They’ve talked about it, about the particularly good or underwhelming men they’ve slept with, and it’s hard not to picture the acts in question when the discussion is so frank and detailed.

Arthur knows that Merlin loves getting his mouth around a nice, plump dick—those had been his exact words. He knows that Merlin enjoys playing the part of a power bottom. He knows that Merlin also likes to top. He knows that Merlin prefers relationships over casual dating or hook-ups, but that sometimes Merlin goes out on the pull and has anonymous sex with sweaty strangers. Arthur knows this because Merlin always texts him before and after, so that someone knows his location and knows when he gets home safe.

But all of that was just background noise before. Now it’s _now_ , here, loud and clear.

“Arthur.”

Arthur looks down to see Merlin hovering over him. Their eyes meet and Merlin lowers himself, his gaze still locked with Arthur’s, and licks slowly up the head of Arthur’s cock.

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath and fists his hands in the sheets. Merlin smirks and does it again, and then a third time, making Arthur bite back a moan. Then Merlin closes his mouth around Arthur’s cock and sinks lower. He does it so slowly that Arthur forgets to breathe until Merlin’s fingers close around the base of his cock as well.

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses, moving one hand to Merlin’s hair.

Merlin hums encouragingly before continuing on until his lips are pressed to the top of his hand. He begins pulling back off, his cheeks hollowed as he starts sucking in earnest.

Arthur doesn’t know how he ever existed for a single day without this. It’s so good, and it’s Merlin, and Arthur loves it.

And Merlin was right—he does give fantastic head. Arthur tries to hold back and hold on, but Merlin is relentless. He sucks and licks Arthur’s dick like he’s desperately hungry, and it doesn’t take very long for Arthur to start arching into it.

“Fuck,” Arthur gasps when Merlin pulls back enough to meet Arthur’s eyes again. His pupils are blown wide and somehow that feels like the newest, the most important, the most intimate part of everything they’ve been doing.

The weight of this—of how far they’ve gone and how they’ll never be able to turn back now that Merlin has had Arthur’s cock in his mouth and _enjoyed it_ —slams into Arthur and he tightens his grip on Merlin’s hair, groaning low and broken.

It builds so quickly that Arthur barely registers the panicked thoughts rushing through his overstimulated mind—does Merlin need a warning, will he swallow it, what if someone hears them—but then he is coming, hard, pressing up into Merlin’s mouth with his breath caught in his throat until the tension finally snaps and he falls back on the bed as Merlin licks him through it.

“Christ,” Arthur sighs, dropping his hand from Merlin’s hair. For a long moment, he can hardly think. He just lies there, limp and serene.

Merlin shifts and Arthur manages to open one eye. Merlin is sitting back on his haunches between Arthur’s legs, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

A new surge of want courses through him and Arthur pushes himself up and pulls Merlin in for a kiss.

“So,” Merlin says, his voice a little shaky, “was that a pro or a con?”

“I’m very certain you know the answer to that already.” Arthur reaches for Merlin’s dick, giving it a few strokes as he sees how it fits in his hand. It’s hot and smooth and perfect, and Arthur can already tell he’s not ever going to be able to get enough of it.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes and tightens his grip on himself.

Arthur moans and pushes at Merlin’s chest until he flops down on the bed, his head hanging over the edge. Grinning at the flush on Merlin’s chest, Arthur leans down to suck Merlin’s cock into his mouth.

Merlin keeps one hand firmly at the base of his cock and moves the other to Arthur’s hair, his hips bucking a little. He’s obviously close already, and normally Arthur might not be too impressed by that—especially because he _also_ loves getting his mouth around a nice, plump dick and would prefer to enjoy the experience for as long as possible—but he finds it incredibly hot that Merlin is struggling not to go over the edge too soon.

He decides to go all out, twisting his head from side to side as he moves his mouth up and down and flicking the tip of his tongue against the underside of Merlin’s head. Merlin gasps and squirms, and Arthur has to hold his hips down to prevent him from wiggling right off the bed.

Arthur keeps up the corkscrew motion and it’s barely any time at all before Merlin releases his grip on his cock and grabs Arthur’s hair instead. Arthur sinks his mouth down, breathing hard through his nose as Merlin comes down his throat with a tremulous, high-pitched moan.

When Merlin’s hips slump back down on the bed, Arthur pulls off and presses his forehead to Merlin’s thigh, trying to get his head to stop spinning. He’s dizzy and aching and the splints are making his feet dig into the mattress at and uncomfortable angle, but he doesn’t ever want to move. He just wants to stay here, breathing in the scent of Merlin, until he falls asleep.

Merlin starts massaging his scalp a little and Arthur forces himself to look up. Merlin is hard again, or more likely _still_ hard. Arthur is the one who is hard _again_ , despite the fact that he is truly exhausted.

Arthur strokes Merlin’s cock loosely and Merlin jerks, too sensitive for it. Grinning, Arthur teases him for a few seconds, enjoying the half-laughs, half-whimpers he’s eliciting. When it truly gets to be too much, Merlin pushes Arthur’s hand away and holds it against his thigh.

“Do you want to go again?” Arthur asks. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to come a second time until he gets some sleep, but he would absolutely suck Merlin’s cock as many times as Merlin wants him to.

“No, I’m barely staying conscious as it is. Although that might be because there is no blood flowing into my head right now.”

Arthur laughs and sits up, pulling Merlin up with him. They kiss softly, lazily, unrushed and unbothered.

“Earlier,” Arthur says when he pulls back, too tired to think better of it. “You said you love me.”

Merlin goes rigid. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You said that loving me is surprisingly annoying.”

Merlin is quiet for a moment, probably replaying their earlier conversation in his head. “I was exaggerating to make a point,” he finally says.

Arthur grins. “No, you weren’t,” he teases and goes in for a soft kiss.

Merlin returns the kiss hesitantly, his body still tense.

“You’re surprisingly annoying as well. Or not so surprisingly, I guess.”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath, relaxing a little. Arthur can’t say the real thing yet. Even though he feels it in this moment—feels it deep in his veins—he knows it would be cheap to say it so soon. Especially after sex when they’re both warm and sleepy and vulnerable. He wants Merlin to know that it’s not just lust or contentment. He wants Merlin to know that he _knows_ it. And he wants to know it too, not just feel it. He wants to live it and breathe it and be it. He wants to get lost in it, drown in it, get swept away in it. He wants it all, all of it, and more.

“What are you thinking?”

“Really ridiculously sappy things,” Arthur admits.

Merlin smiles, his eyes completely hidden in crinkles, and presses a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder. “We should sleep.”

“Yes.”

Merlin hums and then climbs off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Arthur reaches out and holds onto Merlin’s hand for as long as possible, until Merlin has stepped out of reach.

Merlin goes into the hall naked and Arthur suddenly remembers where they are and who they are with. He can’t be entirely sure, but he thinks he was quiet when he came, although he was probably a little loud before that. And Merlin was definitely less than quiet when he came—and _fuck_ was that hot.

Arthur decides not to worry about it until morning. Lance already knows and he can’t imagine anyone else will be too surprised. And maybe everyone slept through it anyway.

When Merlin returns from the bathroom, Arthur ducks out to relieve himself, and then they turn off the light and crawl under the covers together, still only in their socks. Merlin lies on his stomach and Arthur curls up next to him, draping an arm over his back.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers, trailing his fingers along Merlin’s arm.

“For what?” Merlin asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“For being patient and waiting for me.”

Merlin turns onto his side and gives Arthur a long kiss. “You’re well worth the wait.”

Arthur is about to tug Merlin closer when he realises his ear plugs are still in his bag.

“Fuck,” he mutters, not at all wanting to move. “Hold on.”

He rolls out of bed with a grunt and digs through his bag until he can find the little foam nubs.

“I do _not_ snore that loudly,” Merlin protests when he sees what Arthur is holding as he gets back under the covers.

“You do,” Arthur says, fitting in one of the plugs. “I won’t hold it against you, though.”

Merlin headbutts Arthur’s collarbone but then seems to think better of his aggression and tucks his head against Arthur’s chest instead, pulling Arthur’s arm over his shoulder.

Arthur puts in the other ear plug and holds onto Merlin tightly. “Goodnight.”

“Góða nátt,” Merlin mumbles, his voice barely audible through the foam in Arthur’s ears.

Arthur smiles and presses a kiss into Merlin’s hair. “Góða nátt.”


End file.
